Chasing Shadows
by Candace Waters
Summary: Brigatti tracks down a dead man
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Early Edition, its characters   
and certain situations are the property of CBS   
Productions and Sony/Tristar. The rest are  
all mine. :-)  
  
Rating: PG13   
  
Spoilers: Fatal Edition and Forever Amber  
  
Author's notes: This is the first of a Brigatti  
series I plan on writing. At least, I'm hoping to  
sometime in this life time. Anyway, this first  
one was first posted 1/1/02. No profit is being   
made but feedback is welcomed! :-)   
  
  
Chasing Shadows  
  
~~~~~~  
Chapter 1  
  
They said it was a suicide, but my instincts told me otherwise.   
There was a note, a motive, and the opportunity. But no corpse.   
  
My name is Antonia Brigatti. Some of my co-workers   
down at the station where I used to reside simply called me   
Brigatti. I'm 34 years old and at the present time, single. I own   
no children, dog, bird, fish or cat. I hate cats! They make me   
sneeze, and I swear I can smell one from a mile away.   
  
What do I do for a living? Survive mainly. That is,   
ever since I changed professions. I'm a private   
investigator working for the City of Chicago.   
  
Before I get started, let me tell you that this was a   
bizarre case that I had no intention of getting involved  
with. Somehow I did. Little did I know that it would  
have me revaluating my own life and relationships.   
  
I first met Nancy Spiolie when she walked into my   
office one cold rainy evening last month. She told   
me that her brother was missing and that she wanted  
me to find him. Sounded simple enough, except, police  
reports stated that, according to the note that had been   
found at his small beach house, he had committed suicide.   
An additional note had been found taped to the bridge from   
where he had jumped.  
  
His body has never been found.  
  
I was just packing up my papers for the night, getting ready   
to leave my office. It had rained all that day and I was tired   
and hungry. I was clicking off the last of the lights when the   
door   
to my office creaked open. It had grown dark out, and most   
of the lights in the building where my one- and a half room   
office is located had already been turned out or dimmed to   
their soft   
energy--saving glow. At that particular moment, I was   
wondering if one of my old cases had come back to pay   
me--and I don't mean   
in cash.  
  
My first instinct was to reach for my gun, which I keep in my   
desk drawer. But as luck would have it I was five feet   
away on the opposite side of the desk, so I froze knowing  
that I had only a few choices.   
  
One- I could scream bloody murder and wind up looking  
like a complete idiot if it turned out to be only the night watchman   
doing his nightly rounds. Two- I could just try and tackle the son   
of a.....well, you get my point, and ask questions later or three,   
simply fall back on my years of police training, and further   
assess the situation, after all, I hadn't been trained in self-defense  
just for the art of it.  
  
Option three sounded like the mature choice, so I waited,   
reaching for the metal baseball bat that I keep hidden behind  
the door. You know, just in case. I clutched the bat and held   
my breath as the door opened slowly.   
  
Her face appeared first, rained drenched and scared.   
"Hello? Anyone here?"   
  
Lowering the bat, I let out a breath of relief when I saw her  
and relaxed my grip. "Can I help you?"   
  
When she saw me, she also let out a sigh of relief .   
Clutching her coat at the collar she stepped out of   
the shadows of the doorway. "Yes...I'm looking for a   
T-Tony...Brigatti? I was told that I could find him here?"  
  
"That depends." I said, eyeing her up and down.   
"Who are you?"   
  
"Ah..my name is Nancy. Nancy Spiolie."   
  
I studied her carefully for a moment. With this career that   
I had chosen, I had learned that it wasn't too wise to give   
out my identity too quickly. So far, I had been shot at, shot   
and drugged. While I loved my job, I planned on sticking  
around a little while longer. Obviously, the woman was   
looking for a man.   
  
"I'm Toni," I finally answered, my instincts clueing me in  
that she was safe. Noticing that she was shivering,   
her hair dripping wet, I returned the bat behind the   
door and crossed the room to my desk,   
pulled opened the drawer and removed a box of kleenex  
that I kept there.  
  
"What can I do for you?" I asked handing her the box.  
  
"I'm sooo relieved that you're a woman." she sighed,  
running a nervous hand through her hair. "I-I mean   
I thought you'd be a man, you know, with the name   
Tony and all. " She pulled out a tissue and wiped   
her hands. "Thanks."  
  
I held out my hand, "Toni. That's ah...Toni   
with an 'i', Brigatti."   
  
"I was hoping you could help me." She said as we shook.  
  
I checked my watch. It was 8:00 p.m. I had already stayed  
later that I should have, catching up on some old police   
business and certainly didn't want to take on any new  
cases.   
  
"How did you find out about me?" I asked. I didn't  
advertise and took only special cases.   
  
"A detective Ar-Armstrong down at police headquarters  
recomended you. He said you were the best."   
  
Good old Paul. "Well," I sighed, " I-I was just closing up for the   
night." I was hoping she'd catch my drift.   
  
She stared at me for a moment, her face full of dispair.  
She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.  
  
Oh, not the tears! I groaned inwardly. Feeling sorry for her,  
I drew in a tired breath, trying to ready myself for what I was  
about to do. I removed my coat, offered her a seat and flicked  
the lights back on. I   
already had a feeling this was going to be a long night.   
  
`````````````````  
Chapter 2  
  
I turned the key in the lock and let myself into my apartment.   
I hadn't eaten since that morning, and headed straight for the   
kitchen. Tossing my bag onto the sofa, I click on the radio   
sitting on the end table as I passed, immediately, soft music   
permeated the rooms. I opened the refrigerator and   
took out the package of salami I had gotten from the deli   
across the street all the while thinking about the Spiolie woman   
who really had me stumped. It had been close to a year now   
since   
her brother's so-called suicide, but a lot of things just didn't   
add up. Most importantly, where was his body?   
  
Secondly, was my bread? I stood on my tip-toe, searching  
on top of the  
fridge until my hand located an almost-empty package   
of whole   
wheat bread. I untwisted the plastic, took out the last   
slice and   
tossed the empty bag into the garbage can. Laying the   
salami   
slice on the dry bread I rolled it up, grabbed a can of beer   
from   
the fridge, a napkin, then headed back into the living room   
flicking on the small tiffany lamp next to the sofa.   
  
With a sigh of relief, I plopped down on the sofa and kicked   
off my shoes then searched my pockets for the suicide note   
Nancy had given me. I pulled it from my pant pocket unfolded   
it and began to read.   
  
Nancy,  
  
Forgive me for what I have done. I just find it impossible to   
go on living if I can't live it with the woman that I love. I can't  
continue on knowing that I don't have your blessings. I told  
Heather about the argument that we had and she threatened  
to leave me if I allowed you to run my life. I can't live without  
her Nancy I just can't. Heather won't answer any of my calls.  
Please tell her that I love her and to forgive me.  
  
Mike  
  
I folded the letter and pulled out the photo Nancy had given  
me of her brother.   
  
Mike Calibre, I whispered his name silently as I studied his picture. He was a rather handsome young man -- tall, dark hair'd and muscular. Nancy told me that, she had exhausted all of her resources trying to find him. She also told me that it was his girlfriend who had found the suicide note at his beach house.   
But a thorough search had been done of the house, turning up nothing. Not even a body from the mirky water below the bridge on State street where he supposedly had jumped. A second suicide note had been left attached to the bridge with the same message.   
While the police and everyone else ruled suicide, Nancy felt that something wasn't right, that there was something more. Her brother was young, rich. and had everything in the world to live for.   
  
I finished the sandwich, took a sip of the cold beer and   
settled back on the sofa, closing my eyes briefly to   
rest them. It seemed like only seconds before I heard a   
knock on the door. My eyes fluttered open and I glanced  
quickly over at the alarm clock. It was 11:00 pm. Who on earth   
would be calling at this hour?  
  
Rising from the sofa, I moved cautiously towards   
the door to take a peek out of the security hole.   
  
Hobson? What the hell was he doing here? And at this hour?  
  
I ran a hand quickly though my hair, dug into the pocket of  
my pantsuit and pulled out a mint. I stuck it into my mouth and  
chewed before asking casually, "Who is it?"  
  
"Gary."  
  
"Gary who?" I asked, blowing into the palm of my hand  
to check my breath. Minty fresh.  
  
"Gary. G-Gary Hobson."   
  
I unlatched the security lock and opened the door slightly   
to peek out. He seemed taller than I remembered,   
yet still as handsome as the first time I'd laid eyes on him.  
  
"This is a...ahem, surprise," I commented doing a quick survey   
of him. He was wearing his tan coat that I liked on him so much.  
His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers  
through it. He looked uneasy standing there rubbing the palm   
of his hands nervously together.   
  
"What can I do for you Hobson?" I asked, amused by his fidgety   
demeanor.  
  
"I...I know that it's late, Brigatti, a-and I'm sorry to have bothered  
you," he said, his eyes surveying the fact that I was still fully   
dressed for such a late hour. Still donning my pantsuit, and   
in stocking feet, I obviously wasn't dressed for bed.   
  
I arched a quizzical brow at him.   
  
"C-Can I come in f-for a moment?" he stammered.  
  
I blew out a sigh, moved back and pulled open the door. He   
stepped inside shoving his hands down into the pocket of his   
jeans. I took a quick look around outside before closing the door   
behind him.   
  
"I see you're still keeping up on current events," I commented  
eyeing the paper he always seemed to carry around with him,  
stuffed down into the back pocket of his jeans, the back of   
his coat draped partially over it.   
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah," he said, reaching around to touch the paper.   
"Look, Brigatti, I...I came over here tonight because I wanted to   
tell you something, a-and I thought it should be in person."  
  
I arched a suspicious brow at him, mentally hating myself  
for thinking he still looked good. What was it about him that  
made my heart do this crazy little flip-flop thing?   
  
"For such a late night call, this had better be good, Hobson," I   
threatened, folding my arms across my chest.   
  
"Well...ahh..I ahh..." he stammered, scratching the back of his   
head, and looking very uncomfortable.  
  
I uncrossed my arms to check my watch. "Well?   
The night isn't getting any younger Hobson. What is it!?"  
  
"Ahh--this." he mumbled, reaching and pulling me into his arms.   
  
"I've always wanted to do this, Toni" he whispered against   
my hair. His  
breath, warm and sweet, tickled my ear. I was caught totally  
off guard when his lips moved around in search of mine.   
Standing there  
wrapped in his arms, I felt somehow.... protected.   
  
My heart was thumping loudly in my chest as I moistened my   
lips, anxiously awaiting his kiss. I could feel the heat from our   
bodies rising, as he whispered against my lips....  
  
"Brigatti, I...I think I'm in love with you...."  
  
... with you...  
  
... with you...  
  
....with you all day today so keep those umbrellas handy!" The   
weatherman  
on the radio advised cheerfully. "Again, it's going to be a wet   
one today, so keep your umbrellas with you. In other news......."  
  
I stirred, opening my eyes slowly. It was morning. Raising my  
head slightly, I scanned the room then glanced down at my   
attire. I was still fully dressed, and on my living room sofa   
at that. "Great." I groaned.  
  
Reaching over, I quickly snapped off the DJ, who was going  
on and on about some Brittany Spears concert tickets and  
layed back again to stare numbly at the ceiling, pondering   
about the dream I'd just had. What's with this Hobson thing!?   
That did it! No more late-night salami sandwiches for me!   
  
The taste of salami and beer lingered in my mouth making me   
nauseous. I took another quick survey of my living room, my   
eyes settling on the window. Outside, the constant rainflow   
made drizzly patterns against the panes and I groaned.   
Another dreary day. But as much as I relished the thought   
of sleeping in, I knew that I had to get up.  
  
I rose from the couch and stumbled towards the   
bathroom to rinse out my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye,   
I spotted the letter the Spiolie woman had given me last night   
laying on the table and suddenly remembered that I had taken   
on another job. Between that stupid dream and the Spiolie   
woman, I wasn't exactly sure where to start. Spiolie of   
course was paying, and it   
wasn't chump change. The Hobson thing, I'd figure out later. 


	2. Chasing Shadows Chapter 34

~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Chapter 3  
  
I took a quick shower and got dressed, snagging a cup of   
black coffee on my way out. I hopped into my little BMW   
(a little graduation gift from my father too many years ago  
to recall) and headed across town to the mall over on High  
Street.  
  
Nancy Spiolie had mentioned that Mike's girlfriend worked  
in a clothing store there, and I wanted to ask her a few   
quick questions before I made any moves on this case.   
  
The streets were still damp from the morning's down pour,  
and just like the weather man's prediction, the skies were  
threatening more showers. I took my time driving, cautious   
of the slippery roads. Twenty minutes later I was circling   
around the parking lot of the mall, surprised to find it already  
crowded. Dispite the weatherman's warning, I had forgotten  
my umbrella, but luckily there was an empty space near the   
entrance.   
  
I parked the car and sat for a few moments, scanning   
quickly through my notes for the name of the woman   
and the clothing store where she worked.   
  
Was it Hellen? Hazel?...Ah..Heather Langsford.   
Humm....Victoria's Secret. Should be interesting.   
Flipping my note pad closed, I gabbed my bag,   
and hurried into the mall.   
  
Inside, the place was bustling with early morning shoppers.   
Mothers pushing baby strollers browsed hurriedly, while out   
front of one of the record stores a few high school teens,  
probably playing hooky from school, jostled around while  
listening to the "latest sounds," I swear the vibrations of   
which made my teeth rattle. How they could bear to listen  
to that noise is beyond me. I shook my head  
and hurried past.   
  
Up ahead, an old couple paused to rest on a bench   
overlooking the huge water fountain in the center of the Mall.   
The aroma of popcorn, pizza, and Chinese food filled the   
air, reminding me that all I'd had was that morning was cup   
of black coffee. I quickly located the store and went inside.   
  
Mannequins in colorful fall fashion greeted me cheerfully as  
I entered. Dresses, pantsuits and hats in the hottest new  
trends adorned each one. Women's footwear of every style  
and color were on display while the latest style of Victoria's  
Secret lingerie begged for attention.   
  
I pretended to browse for a few minutes, not wanting to start  
off asking questions right away. As I worked my way towards  
the perfume, I spotted a tall blonde standing behind the glass   
counter. She was wearing one of those name tags that stuck  
out like a sore thumb. It simply read: Heather. Assumeing it   
must be her, I wandered nonchalantly over and began  
tinkering around with a few of the sample bottles on the   
counter. After a few minutes of my clinking around, she  
looked up and smiled, flipping a long silky lock of hair  
over her shoulder, the glint from the hugemongous rock   
on her finger almost blinding me as she did so.  
  
"May I help you ?" she asked. I have to admit, she looked  
like I would have expected someone named Heather   
would look. Hair, golden blonde, make-up and lipstick   
done perfectly, as if she'd spent all morning perfecting  
it. Blue liner rimmed blue eyes that were as big as the  
Baltic sea.   
  
"Heather? Heather Langsford?" I asked, wanting to be certain  
she was who I was looking for and I smiled extra wide, not   
wanting to intimidate her by looking, you know, too serious.   
It didn't help, and only seemed to make matters worse. Her   
expression changed to worry as she stared back at me.  
  
"H-How do you know my last name?" she asked, looking  
nervously about, probably for my accomplice.  
  
I flashed my badge, "Toni Brigatti, private investigator. Could  
I ask you a few questions?"  
  
She looked faintly startled, "A private investigator? W-Who  
hired you?"   
  
I didn't want to let on that Mike's sister had hired me,   
so I told a little white one.  
  
"An acquaintance, who was...very close to Mike," I  
answered, choosing my words carefully.   
  
She drew a nervous breath, looking around again. "Well I-I'm   
kind of busy right now."  
  
"It'll only take a minute," I flashed a smile. "You knew Mike  
Calibre, didn't you?"  
  
She hesitated a moment before answering. "Of course.  
Michael was my fiancee'."  
  
"And you were the one who discovered the note?"   
  
"Yes! A note! Look, I've already told everything  
to the police."  
  
"So...there wasn't a body?" I asked, glancing up   
from my notes   
  
Directly behind me, the sound of squeaking wheels  
in serious need of some WD40 caught my attention.   
I could hear panting and struggling that suggested extreme effort and I turned   
around.   
  
Two moving men were bringing in a   
dolly stacked high with  
boxes. Across the front of the boxes   
read: Fragile! Heavy   
Equipment-Handle with Care. The men were sweating  
profusely, leaving me to assume that the boxes were extremely  
heavy. I paused in my questioning to step aside, allowing them   
room to pass. Heather looked concern as she   
eyed the moving men with the oversized load.   
  
"Excuse me," she said then turned to address the two movers.  
  
"Sirs! Excuse me sirs! I really don't think that load is supposed  
to be brought in through the store! This is a public place! Those  
boxes are supposed to be brought in through the back, you  
know, loading zone?!"  
  
One of the exhusted movers paused to wipe his forehead   
with a hanky he pulled from his pocket. He and his partner  
were both sweating from the exertion of their task.   
  
"I know lady," he wheezed checking his watch, " but the  
loading door was closed and we're on tight schedule here.   
We really gotta to get this stuff delivered."  
  
Just then his beeper sounded. He pulled it out to take  
a look and glanced up. "Is there a phone around? I   
have an emergency call."  
  
Heather blew out a frustrated breath and pointed angrily  
towards the bathrooms a few feet away. "In the foyer  
there. Make it fast please and remove this stuff!"  
  
"Yeah,yeah." He groused. "C'mon." Motioning   
to his partner both men walked away, leaving the   
heavy boxes, unattended and partially blocking the isle.   
  
Tapping my pen idly on my forehead, I waited patiently   
until the situation quieted down, hoping Heather would   
remember where we left off. Just in case she didn't, I   
refreshed her memory. "So you didn't find his body that  
night?".  
  
She drew in an angry breath, and flashed me a look to   
match. "No, I didn't! Look Miss er...Biscotti--"  
  
"Brigatti."   
  
"What-*ever*! Look... I have work to do!"  
  
I ignored her anger, "Are you certain that Mike's dead?  
I mean, it's possible that he may have taken a vacation  
or something."  
  
"Yes I'm sure!" she exclaimed. " I-I mean, I haven't heard from   
him since the day before. He was very distraught about  
something, which I've already told to the police. He left   
a suicide note didn't he? "  
  
By now the Baltic sea was flashing storm warnings and  
I got the funny feeling she was beginning to be a little  
irritated with me. I knew that it was time to move on.   
  
"I have to go!" she snapped and turned on her heels  
to leave but spun around suddenly to add, (and I could  
tell that her heart wasn't in it,) "Have a nice day!" With that,   
she stalked off in a huff, her yellow hair whipping the air   
behind her.   
  
Whew! What a hothead! I thought, fanning myself with my   
notes. I blew out an exasperated breath and flipped my note  
pad closed, then turned to scan the store again. I didn't have  
enough information to make a case, and really needed to   
ask her a few more questions.   
However, I valued my life and decided instead to check   
out a blouse I had spotted when I first walked in. I went   
over to take a look, stepping cautiously around the dolly   
with the oversized load. I had been browsing for a few  
minutes when a loud commotion of someone shouting drew  
my attention. The sound of footsteps racing hurridly down   
an aisle in my direction, their frantic tapping on the linoleum   
floor startling me badly enough that I reached for my gun.  
  
"Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" A man's voice   
was shouting.  
  
Before I knew it, I was carried to the floor just as the huge   
dolly the boxes were sitting on came barrelled down on us, taking   
down the clothing racks on every side. The huge boxes   
had toppled forward, crushing everything in their path. The   
perfume counter that once stood crystal clear was  
completely destroyed-- shattered glass and broken  
perfume bottles were everywhere. Some of the glass  
barely missed me as huge sheets went flying through  
the air.   
  
The sound of women and children screaming and crying  
as they ran for cover was all around us, making it nearly   
impossible to determine if there had been casualties.   
On the floor, strong arms still held me, and it was a  
moment before I could registered what had happened.  
  
The pungent sweet smell of perfume from the shattered   
bottles filled the air, making me incredibly nauseous.   
Struggling to sit up, I worked frantically to un-bury myself  
from the many assortment of clothing and hangers that  
covered me.  
  
Finally free, I yanked out of the arms that held me and spun   
around quickly to behold my savior.   
  
I promptly wished I hadn't.  
  
"Hobson!?"  
  
"Bri..gatti."   
  
"W-What the hell are you doing here?!" I asked, feeling   
suddenly foolish as I struggled to get up. Finally on my  
feet, I adjusted my clothing, brushing myself off all the while   
glaring down at him.   
  
From the floor, Hobson-who was covered with female clothing,  
glanced up at me and seemed to be trying hard  
to come up with an answer.   
  
"I-I was just shopping," he finally sputtered.  
  
I shot him an suspicious look before turning to assess the  
damage caused by the heavy equipment. I suddenly   
remembered Heather then looked frantically about for her finally   
locating her standing at another counter, being consoled by a fellow   
employee. I felt relieved that she was safe. I noticed also  
accessing the damage, were the two movers and the store  
manager. The moving men's faces were beet red as they stood,   
nodding and scratching their heads trying to explain their   
situation.   
  
Ruffling a hand through my hair, I blew out a frustrated   
breath then turned back to Hobson who was still on the floor.  
  
"Is this gift for a male or female?" I questioned, knowing   
that this wasn't the time or place.  
  
"Howzat?" he asked, looking up from his newspaper   
his expression totally befuddled. It was a simple enough   
question. I was pissed and I didn't need to ask again.  
  
"M-Male." he stammered quickly.  
  
At that moment, both of us did a slow scan of our surroundings.   
Womens' apparel was strewn all about, mingled with  
shattered glass, stereo and tv equipment. For a brief   
moment I forgot about the terrible mess and strived to make   
sense of Hobson's answer.   
  
Resolved to the fact that I may never understand Hobson,  
I blew out a frustrated breath, and reached down to   
gingerly remove from a pair of pink lace panties from his   
shoulder and dangled it in front of his face.  
  
"Male, huh?"   
  
  
~*~*~*  
Chapter 4  
  
"I'll have the spinach salad." I told the waitress, closing  
my menu.  
  
"A...And I'll have the hero sandwich a-and a cup of  
coffee--black, please," Hobson mumbled. The waitress   
winked at him, gathered our menus, and departed quickly.   
  
While the employees at Victoria's Secret scurried about   
cleaning up the damaging mess and destruction the huge   
boxes had caused, I persuaded Hobson to step over to the   
little diner next door to answer a few questions for me. He   
was reluctant of course, giving me some lame excuse about   
having to be somewhere, but a quick flash of my badge   
provided some additional persuasion and he went quietly.  
  
Both of us, it turns out, were hungry, and we decided to order   
a small bite to eat while we "chatted".  
  
Staring at him sitting across from me, it just didn't   
make any sense at all why he would be browsing  
around in a clothing store for women.  
  
"A hero sandwich?" I questioned, looking him up  
and down. Although, it was quite possible that he   
could have been looking for a little something   
for his...girlfriend.   
  
Hobson's face flushed slightly when he realized what   
he had ordered. "I...I didn't mean anything by ordering  
that sandwich, Brigatti, " he stammered, "I...I mean I--"   
  
" Thanks...for what you did back there." I said, cutting   
him off quickly.  
  
He studied my face for a moment, nodding a silent,   
" You're welcome," before glancing off cross the   
restaurant.   
  
I blew out an impatient breath, then checked my watch.   
You would have thought we had ordered the whole   
menu--what on earth was taking that waitress so long?!   
  
I looked back towards the kitchen.  
  
"So, I see you're still on the job Brigatti." Hobson's voice   
interrupted my thoughts and I turned back around to find   
him quietly watching me.  
  
"That's right." I said, eyeing him suspiciously. " Actually, I'm  
ah, no longer on the force, but still work for the city of Chicago."  
  
He frowned, puzzled by my explanation. "So what exactly is   
your position now? I mean, you went from Marshall to   
detective to...."  
  
"Private investigator," I interrupted. " I was up for a promotion   
with the police department but turned it down."  
  
"Howzat?"  
.   
"I just had a change in careers, Hobson. Decided I was tired of   
always having to prove my-....." I paused, catching myself.   
What was I spilling my guts to him for? It wasn't any of his   
business what I did with my life. I cleared my throat and  
changed the subject with as much grace as I could muster.  
"I tell you, it was that lousy pizza."   
  
He eyed me briefly, then smiled, looking   
off across the restaurant again.   
  
"I don't think I've ever seen you order so much Hobson."  
I commented, bringing the conversation back to him.  
  
" You wha--? " He turned back around.  
  
"Food? Big sandwich? " I reminded him tactfully.   
  
"Oh. I-I guess I was kind of hungry." He grinned, rubbing  
the back of his neck.  
  
An uneasy silence followed, as we sat staring across at one another,   
my eyes focusing on the soft curve of his lower lip. I suddenly   
remembered the kiss we were forced to share in that jewelry  
store with Hobson, posing as my husband to help entrap a jewel thief   
after he supposedly "presented" me with the famous Lermontov diamond.   
I shudder remembering how much I allowed myself to get carried  
away by that kiss. Damn him!   
  
"You look good, Brigatti," he complimented hesitantly.  
  
I arched a skeptical brow at him. "Oh.. you think so huh?"  
  
He smiled, and dropped his head. "I-I just mean that...  
well, I'm glad to see that..that you're doing okay." he  
raised his head to look at me again.  
  
I studied him suspiciously, "Flattery will get you nowhere   
Hobson. " I said, " And I still want to know why you were in   
that department store. Preferably the truth."  
  
"Look...I already told you!"  
  
"It's a woman's lingerie store Hobson." I droned, tired of all his  
lame excuses.  
  
"Didn't you just tell me that you were no longer on the   
Chicago police force?" He asked.  
  
Me and my big mouth. "Makes no difference to you,   
Hobson." I said, leaning forward in my chair to glare  
at him. "I still work FOR the police department of the City   
of Chicago and right now, I have questions."  
  
"But I have nothing to do with your case!"   
  
He was right. Although I was still authorized to  
make arrests, at the moment without an actual reason,  
I had no authority what-so-ever. Luckily, he didn't know that.  
I leaned back in my seat, both of us eyeing each other coldly.   
  
It had been a long time since I'd last seen him. It was after   
the Harland diamond scam case backfired on me. That   
whole set-up with the US government still pisses me off every   
time I think about it, and Hobson hadn't made my job any easier.   
He and that little jaded... Jade! And that so-called "date" we   
had gone on afterward, ha! I should have known better   
than to take him up on that offer. I was still fuming about  
being betrayed and the date turned out to be a complete disaster.  
  
I studied him carefully, drumming my fingers impatiently on the   
checkered table cloth. "Maybe you were the one who pushed  
those boxes over, Hobson." I accused.  
  
"Me?!"  
  
"Yeah. Female underwear   
store. You-- bolting from out of nowhere... suspiciously  
from the vicinity of those boxes."   
  
A dead silence.  
  
"Seems kind of suspicious to me Hobson."   
  
More silence.  
  
"So..." I drew in a tired breath, " You wanna tell me about it.?"   
  
"L-Look... Brigatti," he said, ruffling the back   
of his hair. " If-If you must know, I...I was there to pick up  
a package for a friend of mine."  
  
"A friend."   
  
"Yes. Th-This...friend of mine had ordered something for   
his fiancée' a week ago and didn't think that he would   
make it to the store in time to pick it up, so, being the   
thoughtful friend that I am, I told him that I would pick it up  
for him," he explained, eyes blinking.  
  
"Oh yeah?" I asked leaning forward in my chair. "And where  
is that package, Hobson."   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"The package?"   
  
"I...I don't know." He shrugged innocently. "I-I mean, they   
must have screwed up on the order o...or something   
because it hadn't come in."   
  
More blinking.  
  
Another long silence followed as I sat in awe, glaring at this   
gentle faced man. Who, with his squeaky-clean looks and southern   
charm, always seemed be in the wrong place at the wrong   
time--who repeatedly found himself in trouble because of it, and,   
whose nose I could have sworn had grown a few inches long since   
he first began telling that big lie! Simply amazing. Although I have to  
admit, I liked how his lashes fluttered whenever he was fibbing or   
how his mouth formed that delicious " O " whenever he tried to sound   
convincing and right now he was looking especially...sweet and my   
gut instinct was clueing me in that THIS, was a big one.   
  
"I'm not buying it, Hobson!" I snapped "Now either you're   
going to tell me the truth or...or..." I stammered, trying to think   
of some abstruction of justice charge I could bestowe upon him.  
I couldn't think of any.  
  
"Or what?" Hobson asked, taking advantage of my   
fluster.  
  
For a moment, I sat staring across at him trying to   
remember where  
I had heard those words before. Suddenly,   
I was back in my apartment staring into his  
cold frighten face.   
  
At one time, Hobson had been accused of murder  
Somehow he managed to escape from jail and  
was on the run for his life with all of Chicago PD  
out searching for him. Returning home late  
one night, I was totally surprised to find him standing   
in my kitchen. He asked me for help. Knowing   
the consequences I faced, I denied him that help.  
  
"Hobson! Stay where you are!" I warned pulling my   
gun on him.   
  
Trapped and exhausted, Hobson had run out of options,  
and with nowhere else to go, he played his last  
card. Me.  
  
"Or what?" He whispered, his tone challenging,   
the look in his eyes uncaring-almost suicidal.  
A chill to swept up the back of my neck.   
But I held my position until he   
realized, I wasn't going to help him out.  
  
Lowering his gaze, Hobson backed away slowly,  
and simply walked out, leaving me alone  
and befuddled with my gun still held at point   
blank range,  
my finger still on the trigger. Hobson had   
called my bluff.   
  
The distant wail of a police siren broke me from my  
reverie and I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. I  
looked over at Hobson who was staring at me. I had forgotten  
the question.  
  
I cleared my throat, "W-What did you say?"   
  
"Or what?" he repeated more irritably this time.   
  
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said, "O...Or...I just might  
have to take you out."  
  
I could not believe that I had said that! I certainly hadn't intended  
for it to come out the way that it did. At that moment, the silence   
was so thick, you could have cut it with a knife which we didn't   
have because it was taking the waitress so long to return with   
our order!  
  
Hobson sat staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar, not sure what  
to make of what he'd heard, or whether he had even heard correctly.   
  
"Is that an invitation o-or a threat." he finally asked, searching my   
face, as if for some kind of sign.  
  
At that moment, the waitress appeared with our order.   
  
"Here you go," she smiled, plopping a plate with an over stuffed   
Hero sandwich down on the table in front of Hobson, and a   
large salad in front of me.   
  
Bout time, I thought, draping a napkin quickly across my lap.   
Actually, I was quite relieved, knowing that the waitress's   
sudden appearance was a good diversion from the question.   
  
As we ate in silence, my mind was swarming with a   
thousand questions  
and thoughts of with what had gone on that morning. Hobson's  
gaze had stirred something deep within me and I wasn't so   
sure if I liked it. I did know that I had to get back to the Spiolie   
case and that Hobson was just another distraction.   
  
Afterwards, we stepped outside into the chill of the afternoon   
and headed toward our respected cars. It was overcast, and had   
stopped raining. I noticed that all during lunch, Hobson had seemed  
edgy and had been checking that paper of his, as if he had someplace  
to be. What is it about him and that.. paper?!   
  
As we crossed the parking lot, I thought about the statement I had  
made about taking Hobson out, and felt like a total idiot.   
  
I still didn't believe the reason Hobson had given me as to why he  
was at that store.   
  
"Take care." He said, moving quickly towards his jeep. Stopping   
abruptly, he turned back around. "Oh, ah...what   
time shall I be ready?" he asked, his greenish-brown  
eyes twinkling mischievously,   
  
"Ready for what?" I asked as I got into  
my car.   
  
He blinked. "W-Well, I thought you said that you   
might have to take me out--"  
  
"That's right." I said, slamming the door shut then turned to  
look up at him. "What'd you think I was talking about? Another  
date?"   
  
There was dead silence as we stared silently at each other.   
  
Looking perplexed, Hobson slid a hand through his hair   
and looked off breifly before glancing back down at me.   
Apparently I had thrown him for another loop.  
  
I started the car, letting the engine idle as I studied his   
face. "Think about it Hobson." I said. "And...just stay... out   
of my way, will you?"  
  
I gunned the engine before slipping the car into gear.   
I pulled up slowly to the curb, giving the right-of-way to   
passing traffic before I sped out onto the high-way.   
  
The guy was strange this was true, and he did seem  
to show up in some of the most unlikely places and situations.  
Maybe he had some kind of intuition a sixth sense or something.   
Maybe he really was at that department store to pick up a gift  
for a freind. Maybe I should have asked him out. Arrghh!   
You're losing it, Brigatti. First stop, movie. Next stop,   
nuthouse. Maybe not necessarily in that order, either. 


	3. Chasing Shadows Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 5  
  
It was still early, only a quarter to 1:00, so I  
decided to check   
something out over at one of Mike's favorite hangouts.  
  
The night Nancy came into my office, she had mentioned  
that one of   
Mike's favorite places was a pool hall over on the  
other side of town.   
It was in a rather seedy section of downtown Chicago,  
and considering  
the amount of money Mike was worth, I was quite  
surprised that he would  
have chosen this place as a favorite.   
  
I signaled, and made a right turn onto the expressway,  
easing into the   
afternoon traffic. Minutes later, I pulled up across  
the street from   
Hank's Pool Hall and sat for a moment, just looking  
around. It was an  
old neighborhood, and the buildings that lined the  
streets were in great   
need of repair. The sidewalks were slick from the rain  
and despite the  
sky threatening another downpour, there was a craps  
game going on in  
front of the steps of the building.  
  
Fully aware of the various situations I'd be faced  
with in this   
wonderful profession I had chosen, I'm always  
prepared. I opened my  
glove compartment and took out a can of mace that I  
kept there and  
placed it in my pocket, then checked my gun and slid  
it in my shoulder  
holster before stepping out of the car and locking it  
behind me.   
  
I walked briskly across the street towards the pool  
hall amidst a  
raucous flurry of whistles and cat-calls coming from  
the scruffy-looking  
rabble occupying the sidewalk in front of the  
building. As I got closer,  
I could hear them murmuring about various attributes  
of my anatomy, some  
of which I will be forever grateful that I didn't know  
the meaning of.   
As I approached the door, a lean man with dirty blond  
hair made eye  
contact with me, then braced his booted foot against  
the opposite side  
of the jamb, effectively blocking my entrance.  
  
"Hey baby," he said, looking me up and down like I was  
wearing a sign  
that said, "Pet me, I'm a whore." He had long dirty  
blond hair that did  
nothing to hide his 10 o'clock shadow, and breath that  
reeked of alcohol  
and God knows what else. All in all, he had the  
appearance and general  
aroma of a landfill, and I ran a hand inside my  
pocket, grasping the can  
of mace.   
  
"What can I do for you, angel-face?" he asked, looking  
around at his   
buddies for some support.   
  
I had been on the police force for enough years to  
know potential   
trouble, and I had enough dealings with gang members  
and drug dealers to  
be well familiar with guys of this type. I couldn't  
let them even think  
that I was afraid. That was just the response he was  
hoping for. I  
checked my watch and blew out an exasperated breath.  
  
"Well, you can start by removing your foot." I said,  
returning his   
glare.  
  
"Now why would I want to do that?" he asked, obviously  
having a little   
fun with me as he turned to again check the response  
of his buddies. We  
were, undisputedly, the center of attention.   
  
I flashed my badge. "Well, I figure it like  
this. If you want it still attached to your leg,   
then I suggest you move it."   
  
There's something about the way I can look at a person  
that, I've been  
told, can be very intimidating, and I don't usually  
have a problem in  
the lesser arts of persuasion. Whether this is a curse  
or a blessing, I  
don't know. I suppose it's one of many traits I  
had learned in order to survive.   
  
I kept my eye on lover-boy with the big foot in front  
of me, all the   
while keeping check on the others with my peripheral  
vision. I could  
feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I  
readied to defend  
myself. Thank God I worked out from time to time.   
  
Fortunately, my icy stare worked, and the creep  
lowered his leg and  
stepped aside, holding up his hands in surrender.   
  
"Hey, be cool...be cool." He laughed, "Chill out,  
Mama."  
  
"I'm not your Mama," I muttered, and walked past  
without even turning   
around, leaving them to snicker and taunt one another.  
  
Inside, the air was smoky and the crowd sparse. Music  
was playing  
softly, and the sound of billiard balls smashing  
against each other  
echoed loudly throughout the building.   
  
There were several pool tables in the center of the  
floor, and a jukebox  
and a couple of worn-out pinball machines populated  
the rear wall.   
Along the right-hand wall, there were a few tables and  
chairs, and on  
the other side of the room was the bar itself.   
  
The men around the pool tables paused from their game  
to stare at me.   
Curious looks etched their faces, as if wondering what  
business I had  
there. I did a quick scan of the place, not really  
knowing where to  
begin, and decided to start with the tall, lean  
gentleman standing at  
the end of the bar. Whistles followed me as I made my  
quickly towards  
him.   
  
These guys really needed to get a life! Or a girl, I  
thought wryly,  
although from the looks of most of them, that wasn't  
even a remote  
possibility.  
  
I stood in front of the bar and cleared my throat, and  
the man glanced   
up, doing a double-take when he saw me. He stopped  
whatever it was he  
was doing and grinned. I could see that he had a few  
teeth missing on  
the side, one missing in front.  
  
  
"What can I do for ya, doll-face?" he asked with a  
lopsided smile,   
giving me the once-over. His eyes reminded me of two  
black beads rolling  
around in one of those handheld games that used to  
come as a Cracker  
Jack prize.   
  
"Did you know a Michael Calibre?" I started off  
quickly. I wanted to   
get right to the point and get the hell out of there.  
"I understand this  
is where he use to hang out."  
  
He considered for a moment, scratching his chin before  
answering. "Yeah,   
I knew Mike very well. Who are you?" he asked.  
  
I flashed my badge. "Brigatti. Private investigator.  
Did you see him   
anytime the day before he died?" I asked, placing the  
badge back into my   
pocket and pulling out my note pad.   
  
" I saw him the night before. He looked really bummed  
out, about what, I  
don't know. I think he was having some money trouble  
and had been  
arguing with his sister about something."  
  
Just then, a tall black guy approached the bar and  
stood beside me. He was wearing a pair of mirrored   
sunglasses, indoors as we were. Ignored him keeping  
my attention on the bartender. "You mean girlfriend?" I asked.  
  
"No...his sister." The bartender scratched his head  
reflectively. "She told   
him that she was going to remove him from the will or  
somethin'. I...I  
don't know. I'm gonna miss that boy."   
  
Surprised that Nancy hadn't mention that to me, I  
paused in my   
questioning to jot it down, letting him have his  
second of mourning  
before I continued.   
  
"Did he say why she wanted to remove him from the  
will?" I asked,   
glancing up from my notes.  
  
"No," he said, again scratching his head. Then, as if  
he suddenly  
remembered something, his head snapped up.  
  
"Wait a minute. Mike did say something about his  
sister threatening to   
disinherit him if he ever got hitched. She didn't want  
him to marry,   
I think that was one of the reasons he was so bummed  
out."  
  
"Really...." I said, pausing in my writing to stare at  
him. Again, I was   
surprised by this information and the fact that Nancy  
hadn't mentioned   
it to me.   
  
So far, the guy with the mirrored shades hadn't moved  
and I wondered if   
he had fallen asleep standing in the spot beside me.  
Behind those shades  
it was hard to tell.  
  
Irritated, I turned to look at him. "I'll be with you  
in a minute." I said sarcastically rolling my eyes heavenward. I blew out an  
iritated breath then turned back to focus my attention   
on the bartender. I searched through my notes, and having  
exhausted all of my questions, decided I was through, here.   
  
"Well," I said snapping my note pad closed. "I  
suppose that's all for   
now. You will stick around in case I need to ask you  
some more  
questions, won't you?" I asked.  
  
"Anything for you, doll-face." He grinned. "Want my  
beeper number?"  
  
"Ahh--that won't be necessary." I wrinkled my nose at him. "Thank you  
um---," I paused. I hadn't gotten his name.   
  
"All Night Charlie," he grinned even broader. If that was at all possible.  
"But my women call me all night," he added, with a wiggle of his straggly  
eyebrows.  
  
I was wrong in my first assessment of him. There were  
about four missing   
teeth, including the one in front.   
  
"Nice." I murmured sliding my note pad back into my  
pocket, again,   
touching the can of mace before looking back up at  
him.  
  
"Well, thank you---ahh....Charlie." I smiled,  
determined to leave out   
the part about the all night. This guy was just too  
much!  
  
I turned on my heel to leave, but stopped abruptly to  
cock a cold eye   
at the guy glued to the spot next to me. I opened my  
mouth to make a  
comment, but decided against it. He wasn't worth the  
time. Closing my  
mouth, I shuddered, then walked out, leaving a trail  
of whistles behind  
me. 


	4. Chasing Shadows Chapter 67

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 6  
  
It was raining again, and the group that had been  
standing around   
outside of the poolhall had disbursed. I pulled up the  
hood of my coat,  
shrugging deeper into its protective warmth, and  
headed towards my car.   
  
I had nearly reached it when someone shouted,  
"Detective!!" I turned around to  
see the guy who had blocked my entrance on the other  
side of the street. He  
was walking slowly backwards, his unwavering gaze  
fixed firmly on me. He let  
the moment drag out, and then nodded slightly and gave  
me the peace sign. He  
let it hang in the air between us for just a moment,  
then tugging the collar  
of his coat up around his neck, he turned back around  
and walked briskly away.   
For some reason, I suppose I had earned his respect.   
  
Smiling smugly to myself, I unlocked my car door and  
crawled inside. I sat there for a while,  
waiting for the rain to subside while going over all the notes   
I'd collected so far. However, no matter how  
long I stared at them, things just didn't add up.  
Nancy never mentioned the  
argument she had had with her brother the night before  
his so-called suicide,  
nor the fact that she had threatened to remove him  
from the inheritance. This  
was very important information, and for her to just  
leave it out like that  
just didn't sit right with me. I got the distinct  
feeling that Nancy may have  
been harboring something from me, but what? And why?  
  
The rain soon slowed to a drizzle, and I started the  
engine, flipping on   
the windshield wipers to clear my view. As I drove  
away, I felt a sudden   
need to talk with Nancy again before making any more  
moves on this case. Since   
I was already out, I decided I'd pay her a little  
visit.   
  
I took advantage of the red light to search my glove  
compartment for the card   
with her address on it that I had tossed in last week.  
Fingering quickly   
through papers I kept stacked neatly inside--insurance  
forms, maintenance   
contracts--I quickly located the card and took it out.  
  
  
One twenty-five, Sunset Lane.   
  
The light turned green, I slipped the car back into  
drive and   
pulled off, easing onto the 980 expressway.  
  
A half an hour later, I was cruising down a quiet  
street in an upscale   
residential neighborhood, the kind where each prim  
little home has a lawn that  
has been so pampered and well-manicured that each  
looks less like grass and  
more like a soft green carpet. I slowed to a cruise,  
checking the names of  
the streets which, instead of being given the expected  
names like "Oak" and  
"Maple," were named according to various times of  
day--Moonlight Drive,  
Sunrise Lane, Twilight Circle.   
  
I turned down the next street, cruising slowly until a  
cluster of townhouses  
came into view. One twenty-five Sunset Lane. This was  
it. I pulled up in front  
of a large townhouse, situated somewhat higher than  
its neighbors, and  
surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubbery and rose  
bushes. I cut the engine and  
took a few minutes to really look around. The  
neighborhood was   
beautiful, and looked like a page right out of a story  
book.   
  
I stepped out of the car and made my way carefully up  
the long walkway   
that met with the front porch of the townhouse. I  
walked up the steps, taking  
in the quiet peace of the world after a rain. The rain  
had washed everything  
clean, and the air smelled fresh, of roses and  
jasmine. I drew in a deep breath and  
reached up, pressing lightly  
on the doorbell, and heard its hollow, soothing tone  
echoing throughout the  
house. A few minutes later, the large door was opened  
by a heavy-set woman  
wearing an apron. Her shiny black hair was swept up  
neatly, held in place with  
a prim maid's cap. The cap itself was enough to  
convince me of her status.  
  
"May I help you?" She had an Italian accent, and  
except for the blackness of   
the hair, she kind of reminded me of my grandmother  
when she was younger.  
  
"Hi. Is Mrs. Spiolie home?" I asked.  
  
"Whom may I ask is calling?" She asked.  
  
"Toni Brigatti."  
  
She stepped back, opening the door wider for me to  
enter, and I stepped   
inside. The floor in the entrance hall shone like  
spilled honey as I   
followed her down the step into the living room. The  
plush carpet here was   
immaculately white, and for a brief moment I felt as  
if I should have   
wiped my feet before entering.   
  
"One momento please." She nodded and departed quickly.  
I drew in a   
breath, taking everything in. The place was  
beautiful. Everything was done  
in white. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nancy and  
a tall, rather large  
fellow appear with concerned looks on their faces.   
  
"Miss Brigatti," Nancy greeted, with her hand  
stretched out, looking much   
smaller than when I had first met her. Maybe it was  
because she was   
standing beside the giant of a man who accompanied  
her.   
  
"Call me Toni, please," I smiled, politely shaking her  
hand.   
  
"Toni, this is Stanley, my husband," She said,  
introducing the man who   
was with her. I had to crane my neck to look up at  
him, and I smiled as we   
shook hands, his hand engulfing mine with ease.   
  
"Nice to meet you," He intoned, his baritone voice  
appropriately matching his  
stature. He had dark hair, graying slightly on the  
sides, a strong jaw line,  
and eyes that crinkled in the corner when he smiled. I  
could tell that he was  
much older than Nancy, and he towered over her pale  
form. He was darker than  
she, and carried the look of one who must spend a  
great deal of time in the  
sun.  
  
"You have a lovely home," I said, looking around.   
  
"Thank you," she smiled. There was a brief moment of  
silence in which Nancy  
looked puzzled, probably wondering why I was there. I  
cleared my   
throat and got to the point.  
  
"Look, Nancy,I'm sorry to have bothered you at such an  
unexpected   
time, but I needed to ask you a few more questions,  
and since I was out and  
about I decided to drop by. I...I hope you don't  
mind." I also hoped she  
believed that line, considering I was about 45 minutes  
out of my way.  
  
"Not at all. Please come in," she said, motioning  
towards the large sofa   
behind a glass coffee table, its base a huge white  
elephant trimmed in gold.  
  
"I'll only be a moment," I told her, and sank down.  
  
She and Stanley took a seat in the white loveseats  
across from me.   
  
"Could I get you something?" she offered.  
"Coffee...tea?"  
  
"No, I'm fine thank you. Listen, Nancy, why didn't you  
tell me that   
your father had placed you in charge of the estate?"  
  
She looked surprised, "I didn't tell you?"   
  
"Um...no." I said.   
  
"I'm sorry...it must have slipped my mind." She  
glanced briefly at her   
husband and drew in a breath. "Yes, our father, before  
he died, placed   
me in charge of the estate."  
  
"The argument you had with your brother the night  
before he died, what   
was that all about?" I asked, pulling out my note pad  
to begin writing.  
  
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I  
hate thinking about   
it. It was the last time I saw my brother alive,  
Toni."  
  
"You want to tell me about it?" I asked.  
  
"Well, first of all, I think you should know about our  
father."  
  
I listened carefully. Her tone, her expression, all  
seemed to change when she mentioned her father and  
I waited patiently.  
  
"Father," she began, with obvious distaste, her eyes   
narrowing as though just saying the word repulsed her.  
"Let me rephrase that. Enrico Calibre wasn't my   
biological father."  
  
"Wait a minute" I cut in, wanting to make sure I had heard   
correctly as this was *very* new information to me. "You mean  
and Mike have different fathers?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded and drew in another breath to explain. " I was ten  
when mother met Enrico Calibre while vacationing in Hawaii.   
Mother was surprised to find out that he was a very wealthy  
man. They began dating and fell in love. Mother soon discovered  
that she was pregnant. They were married before Mike was born.  
When I became an adult Enrico placed me in charge of the estate  
and the money long before my brother was old  
enough to know anything about anything. But my being in charge was  
only temporary."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well...Mike, by blood, is the actual sole beneficiary of   
the estate of course. After our mother's bitter divorce from   
Enrico, he felt that my brother should get the bulk of the   
money--actually all of the money--when he came of age and   
when he married, after which, my brother would be  
fully in charge of the estate. Until then, the money was frozen.  
I was given a limited amount to do what I pleased." She   
sighed, looking around. "This townhouse is all that I   
have. The whole estate is Mike's and Mike's alone.   
It was in the will. It   
was what Enrico wanted before he died and there was  
nothing that I could do   
about it."   
  
"I see," I said thoughtfully.  
  
She glanced over at her husband who smiled, grasping  
her hand to   
support and comfort her. Nancy drew in a deep breath  
and continued. " After  
Mike turned 21, he never mentioned what was stipulated  
in the will and had  
even talked of splitting everything with me. But then  
he met and began dating   
that...that woman, and things changed."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"Well, he just wasn't the same anymore. He started  
talking about taking   
these expensive trips--African safaris, trips to China  
and Japan, the   
Caribbean, and so forth. Toni, he even mentioned  
sailing around the world for  
a year! Can you believe it?"  
  
Sounded good to me.  
  
"What happened the night of the argument?" I asked.  
  
At that moment, Stanley rose to retrieve a box of  
tissues from the table   
and held it out to her. She pulled out a few and blew  
her nose.   
  
"Well, Mike came by to tell me that he was getting  
married."  
  
"You mean to Heather?"   
  
"Yes...there was just something about her...I...I  
don't know. Anyway, we   
argued about it because I didn't think he was making a  
very wise choice   
and I voiced my concerns to him. I cared deeply for  
him and didn't want to   
see him hurt, so I threatened to disinherit him if he  
married her."  
  
There was an uneasy silence as the words she spoke  
hung heavily in the   
air. Sensing this, Nancy looked up from her wadded  
tissue.   
  
"The woman's a real gold digger," she added quietly.  
  
"So you thought that if you disinherited Mike...."  
  
"I couldn't, Toni," she answered quickly. "I only  
wanted him to think   
that I could. I know that he would have found out  
eventually."  
  
I arched an eyebrow at her. The realization of what  
she was saying and how it all made her   
appear didn't seem to affect her at all.   
I glanced over at Stanley who met my gaze and  
he shrugged slightly.   
  
She seemed to sense what I was thinking and glanced  
down at her hands.   
"I loved my brother dearly. I wouldn't have hurt him,"  
she whispered.  
  
"Mike was in love," Stanley added, coming to his  
wife's aid. " No   
matter what we told him, or how we tried to advise  
him, he wouldn't listen."  
  
"I see," I nodded.   
  
Silence.  
  
"Tell me, the bridge where Mike supposedly jumped from,  
the water has   
been searched, right?"  
  
"Yes. Repeatedly. Nothing was ever found." Stanley  
solemly informed me.  
  
"He wouldn't have taken his own life, Toni." Nancy  
said, looking up at   
me. "He had too much to live for."  
  
She seemed pretty adamant about that fact and for  
obvious reasons. I   
looked around once more, taking in the beauty of the  
place. Mike certainly had   
a lot to live for, I agreed.  
  
"Well," I sighed, rising from my seat. "I guess  
that's all for now."  
  
"Toni? Please, you have to find him," Nancy begged.   
  
I stared at her for a moment, her eyes pleading with  
me. I didn't know   
if I could. "I'll do what I can," I said, walking  
towards the door. "Call me   
if you think of anything else, okay?" I asked, turning  
to look at her.   
  
"I will," she said softly.   
  
We said our good-byes and I stepped out into the  
chilled afternoon air.  
As I walked to my   
car, I couldn't help but think how much this whole  
case was beginning to   
stink. Right now, I was tired and needed time to  
think. I started the engine   
and pulled off, headed towards home.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 7  
  
"Winslow," I said, smiling into the speaker phone. I  
had just stepped   
out of the shower, dialed his number and was sitting  
on my bed wrapped  
in a large bath towel while buffering my hair with  
another.   
  
"Hey beautiful!" Winslow's voice sounded through the  
intercom. "Miss me?"  
  
"How'd you guess?" I said sarcastically, tossing my  
head forward to ruffle the back of my hair with the towel. "And ah,  
you can cool it with the flattery bit."   
  
"Hey, can't blame a guy for trying," he chuckled.  
  
I was glad Winslow couldn't see my smile. Although he  
could be   
annoying at times, I had learned to simply ignore him.  
It didn't help  
matters that he had a crush on me--at least, according  
to the rumors,  
anyway--and it might have been amusing had he not been  
so damned   
irritating. I often reminded him that I preferred  
older men, he wasn't  
my type and that I wasn't into Bruce Springsteen or  
the Rolling Stones.  
It didn't seem to help. Ever since he had helped me  
out in the Scanlon  
murder case involving Hobson's frame up, we had  
remained...aquatinted. I owe Winslow, a fact that  
I will never admit in public, and after I  
left the police department to go solo, I would  
sometimes call on him to help me out  
with a case. I trusted Winslow to get the information  
that I needed and right now, with  
this case, I felt that I could use his help.   
  
"What's up?" he asked eagerly.  
  
"Feel like making a little extra cash?" I asked,  
tossing the towel I   
was using to dry my hair aside. I got up and crossed  
the room to my  
closet, removed my favorite red silk nightgown and  
slipped it over my  
head.  
  
"Sure. I can always use the extra cash." he said.  
  
"Well, I need you to do me a favor."  
  
"You got it."  
  
I paused briefly to stare down at the intercom. I  
found his willingness   
to please me without question eerie, to say the least.  
The guy was   
simply too much. I cleared my throat and continued.   
  
"Look..I'm working on a case that involves  
some serious money   
and one of the key players seems a little shady to me.  
I wonder if you   
could check her out for me You know, keep tabs on her  
just for a day. See where she goes, who she sees, what she does....who she does. That  
kind of thing."   
  
" She?" Winslow's voice took on a renewed sense of   
interest, and I paused to stare down at the phone again.  
  
"Yeah. That should make your job a little easier to bear, you think?" I rolled my eyes.   
  
"Aw..you got me all wrong Toni." He chuckled, "But Gimme whatcha got."   
  
"Well, it's quite possible that this guy may have been murdered so that a lot of money could be collected. I'm not certain, but I want you to check out his fiancee or "ex" fiancee for me. Her name's Heather Langsford and she lives over on Shoreline Drive."   
  
A sudden pause on the other end of the line led me to believe that we had lost the connection and I tapped the phone. "Winslow, you still there?"   
  
"Yep. Just making sure I got everything written down. So you feel this guy may have been killed and that his fiancee may have something to do with it?"  
  
"Or someone else," I added quickly. "It's just a guess and there's still a few other characters out there that I want to check out before I draw any conclusions."   
  
"I'm on it," Winslow answered.  
  
"You got my number, right?"   
  
I could hear a rustling movement on the other end of the line. I imagined he was probably fumbling through the many bits of paper in his pockets for my number.  
  
"Got it right here," he said.  
  
"Let me know if you come up with anything interesting. I'm have to make a few runs tomorrow, but I'll keep in touch. "   
  
"I'm on it."  
  
There was a click and Winslow was gone. I clicked off  
the speaker phone   
and sat for a few moments before I finally roused the  
will to get up. I  
slipped on my red silk bath robe, poured myself a  
small glass of   
wine and settled back on my chase lounge in front of  
my bedroom   
window, looking out over the top of the apartments in  
my neighborhood.   
  
It had stopped raining and the night was falling fast.  
Everything had   
taken on a bluish hue, and in a few minutes it would  
be completely  
black, broken only by the twinkling lights from the  
neighborhood and the  
traffic below. I loved the city, even with all of its  
problems and  
mysteries, or maybe because of them, but somewhere out  
there was a killer and I had to find  
him. 


	5. Chasing Shadows Chapter 89

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 8  
  
Someone was crying again.  
  
Wanting to block out the sound, I frowned   
and rolled over, plopping two middle fingers  
into my mouth for comfort. It didn't help.   
  
There is was again. It was an unusual sound   
and it frightened me. It wasn't the sound   
that would come from another child,  
but from someone older. Much....much older.  
  
My eyes fluttered open and I blinked, peering  
into the darkness of my room until my vision adjusted  
to my surroundings. But the sobbing continued, although  
faint, it could still be heard.   
  
I climbed out of bed and in my bare feet, padded to the door  
and took a peek out into the hallway, trying to locate the sound.   
It was coming from my daddy's bedroom. Poor daddy. Maybe he   
needed another one of my hugs to make him feel better. I missed  
mommy too.   
  
It was dark and eerie in the hallway as I walked slowly towards  
his room, the sobbing growing louder as I got closer. I hesitated   
outside of his bedroom door for just a moment before reaching   
up to turn the knob slowly. I opened the door a small crack   
and took a peek inside. It was dark inside of his room, but I could  
see my daddy sitting on his bed, his strong frame silhouetted   
against the white moonlit curtains of his window. He was holding   
something up to his head. There was a flash of light.  
  
((BANG!!!))  
  
I bolted straight up bed, my heart pounding hard against my   
chest. Sweat beaded my face as I gasped to catch my breath.  
It was a moment before finally realized that, I had had another dream about that dreadful night. At that moment the phone   
rang and I quickly eached over fumbling for the receiver.   
  
"H-Hello." I whispered hoarsely, my mouth dry.  
  
"Antonia"   
  
My mind was still fuzzy as I tried to place the voice.  
  
"Antonia...you there?"  
  
No one called me by that name but Frank. My adoptive  
father.   
  
"Frank?" I asked, clearing my throat.   
  
"Hey, how ya doing." He chuckled.   
  
"You in Chicago?" I frowned, puzzled by such an   
early morning call, yet trying hide my nervous tone.   
  
"No-no, I'm still here in New York. What's wrong, your voice   
sounds shaky. You all right?"  
  
With the covers crumpled around me, my heart was still racing   
as I squinted at my alarm clock, the green digital numbers  
illuminating the darkened room. It was 5:00 AM. I drew in a   
tired breath. " Dad, it's 5 O'clock in the morning." I informed him,   
feeling slightly ticked because of the dream and the early   
morning wake up call.   
  
"Sorry Hot Shot." He apologized with a chuckle.  
  
Hot Shot. The name Frank had labeled me when I was small.  
Undoubtly because of my fiery temper. After I joined the police  
department, the name seemed appropriate, at least according   
to Frank anyway, and stuck it with me. My excellent marksmanship  
didn't help my situation.   
  
"Antonia? You still there?"  
  
Leaning back against the headboard, I ran a hand through  
my hair, damp with sweat." Y-Yeah...I-I'm still here. " I   
answered.  
  
I had forgotten that Frank was an avid fisherman and was used   
to getting up before the crack of dawn. For years he would wake  
me up early to go along with him down to the lake. Not wanting to  
disappoint him, I went. I really hated fishing. The fishy smell.   
Tangled lines. Waiting in one spot for hours just to get a nibble.   
Dishearten to discover that-that nibble, was actually an old boot   
someone had lost probably years ago. Such a waste of time to me.  
I had no patience for it. Which might explain my current dislike for   
the "sport."   
  
"I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning honey, but it's   
hard trying to catch up with you."  
  
"It's fine...really." I assured him, " But dad,... you can always   
leave a message on my answering machine if you can't   
reach me." I explained.  
  
"I know, but I don't like talking into those blasted things.   
You know that. "  
  
"Okay...okay, " I sighed softly, resigned to the fact that  
this was a lost battle while making a mental note   
to scratch answering maching off of my Christmas list.   
  
"Dad...w-was there something that you wanted to tell me?   
Is everything okay?"   
  
He hesitated for a moment, "Well..yeah honey, everything's   
fine. Look, your mother and I are taking a cruise in a couple   
of days and we just wanted to know if you wanted to tag along  
with us. You've been working pretty hard these past couple of   
months and we decided that you needed a vacation." He chuckled.  
  
"Oh, *you* decided huh? " I smiled, scratching my head, my heart  
beginning to finally settle down. Frank could have been a comedian  
too. I drew in a long breath, knowing that once again, I would have to  
disappoint them.   
  
"I can't make it." I said simply.  
  
Silence.  
  
"That's it?" He finally said. " You can't make it?"  
  
"I-I'm sort of tied up with a case right now."  
  
"Speaking of case," he said, a tone of deprivation in his voice.   
" is there something you forgot to tell us?"   
  
I frowned searching my memory bank trying hard to think of what  
he could possibly be referring to. He quickly refreshed my memory.  
  
"Your new position?"   
  
"Ohh," I nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. I hadn't yet told them  
about my deciding to go solo. I leaned my head back against my  
head board and apologized. "I-I'm sorry, I was going to tell you   
and--how did you find out about that anyway?"  
  
"So, you're no longer on the police force?" He asked, ignoring my  
inquiry.  
  
"No...well kind of. I work independently now along with the police.   
I was hired to work special forces. I'm licensed by the state of   
Illinois." I answered hoping he'd be satisfied with that answer.  
  
There was another long silence while he processed the information.  
  
"So what exactly is it that you do?" He finally asked.  
  
"Well, actually, it's no different really than what I did as a  
police officer. I just work alone."  
  
"Your mother and I worry about you Antonia."  
  
" I'm fine, really."  
  
"So do you work homicide cases too?"   
  
"Yes."  
  
"Antonia...I-I don't know. " I could see him shaking his head.   
  
"Dad!" I emphasized loudly enough to get his attention. " It's no different  
from what I did when I was on the police force."  
  
Silence.   
  
"But at least you then had the support of the police   
department backing you up." He argued.  
  
  
"I-I still do. " I assured him softly " I'm okay dad....really.  
I-I can handle myself."   
  
Silence.  
  
"You always were an independent young lady." He murmured  
softly after a long pause.  
  
I nodded knowing that he couldn't see me. But he was right.   
There's something quite sobering about being an only child   
and left alone. To witness what I had at such a young age. Yes,  
I had grown up fast.   
  
I cleared my throat. "So how's mom?" I asked, changing the subject.  
  
"Doing fine... still sleeping. She's going to be upset when she   
finds out that I talked to you without waking her up though." He chuckled,  
"Give her a call will you?"  
  
"I will." I promised.   
  
"You sure you can't make it?" He asked in a last attempt   
to get me to change my mind and I smiled wistfully.   
  
"Maybe when I'm done with this case huh?"   
  
Silence.  
  
"Best shot in Chicago." He whispered softly to no one in  
particularly and I smiled at the tone of pride in his voice.  
  
"That's right." I assured him confidently.   
  
"Talk to you later."  
  
"See you when you get back." I promised. "And have a good time."  
  
There was a long pause before the phone clicked in my ear.  
With that, he was gone. Unconciously, I held on to the receiver,  
in my mind savoring the last bit of contact with him. But the   
electronic voice of the operator informing me that if I would like to   
make a call, to please hang up and try again, broke me from my  
reverie and I slowly hung up.   
  
I was ten when Frank and Rosata Valardi adopted me. They were   
an older couple in their late forties, living very comfortably, but  
never had any children of their own. They felt that a child would   
complete their lives and were actually looking to adopt a baby boy.   
But Frank told me that it was and my piercing dark eyes and  
coal black hair that drew them to me. Little did they know that there  
was a bite to go along with the look. After having lived in a foster  
home for a part of my life, I had built up a wall of protection. After   
what my father did, I was afraid to ever get so close to some one  
that I would be left "alone" again.   
  
But the Valardis dealt with me, spoiling me rotten, at least, as much  
as I would allowed them to. After I turned eighteen, I packed up my   
little BMW I had received from them as a graduation gift, and moved   
out on my own. Frank and Rosata were good parents, actually, they   
were excellent parents and I could never repay them for the life they  
gave back to me. But there was a independent streak that ran deep  
in me. I needed to do things for myself.   
  
I slid down into the warmth of my covers, trying hard to remember  
my real mother. Aside from a few pictures, and what my father   
had told me about her, I didn't remember much. Apparently, she had  
been killed in a car accident when I was 5 by a drunk driver. My   
father who was driving at the time had survived the accident, but   
never got over her death. Although it wasn't his fault, he blamed   
himself. As the years faded, so did my memories of my mother.  
My father raised me the best he knew how and I loved him very much.   
I was happy. Just me and my dad. I thought that he was happy too.   
I was wrong. One night, at the tender age of seven, I got to see   
first hand just how unhappy he really was. I had witnessed it all.   
  
Over the years, I learned the art of pushing it all aside, building  
up a wall of defense and mistrust, learning not to depend on anyone  
but myself.   
  
Still shaky from the dream, I was unable to go back to sleep.  
I got up and showered, got dressed and headed over to my office,   
wanting to pour myself into my work. That's the good thing about  
being in this profession. You get to concentrate on other people's  
problems, while shoving your own under a rug for a while. Speaking  
of problems, there were still a few things that I wanted to take care  
before I made any more moves on the Spiolie case. I hadn't checked  
out Mike's apartment as of yet, and with Nancy's approval that would  
be one of the first things on my agenda for the day.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 9  
  
There are a few small businesses in the same building  
where my office is located. One is a printing supplies place, and  
the other a small Subway Sandwich shop, which, fortunately for me,  
is a convenient way to snag a cup of coffee on the way to my office.   
  
I parked in a space right in front, paid for a cup of  
coffee, and walked over to my office a few feet away   
and let myself in.   
  
It was stuffy inside. Leaving the door open, I set my  
purse and coffee down and pushed up the small window in back  
of my desk. I hadn't been there in a couple of days, and the  
place smelled like mold. The red message light on my answering  
machine was blinking like crazy. I hit the rewind button and removed the top from my coffee to stir it.  
  
"Morning." Gaunter, the mailman for the building  
peeked his head inside of the door.   
  
"Morning, Gaunter," I greeted. "Got any mail for me  
today? I only want the good stuff."  
  
Gaunter was the silent type--didn't say much but had a  
nice kindly face. He rummaged through the pile in his arms and  
pulled out a small stack and handed them to me. "There's more behind the door." He said, pulling back the door to reveal a small trail of  
letters that had spilled over onto the floor from my outside mail box.  
  
"Gee, thanks Gaunt." I smirked, plopping down in my  
chair. It was going to take a while to sort through that pile, and I was  
getting tired just thinking about it. They were mostly advertisements, I kept reminding myself.   
  
He smiled, tipped his hat, and left, leaving me with  
a handful of letters and the beeping sound of my answering   
machine kicking in.   
  
((Beep!))   
  
"Hi Toni," a female voice sang cheerfully. I  
recognized it to be that of my best friend Ariana.   
  
"Just keeping in touch with you. I know how you feel  
about blind dates..and don't you dare cut this message off!  
Anyway, you just gotta give this one a chance Toni. Look..  
my boyfriend has  
a friend who's just dying to meet--."   
  
I shuddered and reached over fast-forwarding quickly  
to the next message. Ariana was always trying to set me up with a  
blind date. The last time I had given in and gone out with her and a  
friend-of-a-friend who was a doctor, he had proven to have more a  
surgeon's skill with his hands, and was hell-bent on showing me. After I got  
through with him, he probably needed his own surgeon. Jerk.  
  
((Beep!))  
  
"Hey, Toni. Winslow. Look, I had some spare time today  
and decided to do   
a little trace on our friend Heather."   
  
I took a sip of coffee and leaned forward in my chair,  
eager to hear what Winslow had come up with.   
  
"Apparently, she's been in close contact with someone  
down in Mexico.   
Her phone records indicate that she's made quite a few  
calls to this   
number. Got a pen handy? 1-212- 995-8764."  
  
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pen and  
quickly scribbled down   
the number as Winslow read it off.  
  
"Seems as if our friend is into motorcycles. Found  
out she belongs to   
a motorcycle club.. don't know the name of it right now,  
but also that she just recently returned   
from a vacation somewhere down in Jamaica, some type of  
motorcycle trip. With whom I'm not sure. But Toni,  
here's the  
clincher...."   
  
I held my cup in mid of another sip, bracing myself for  
whatever it was Winslow had to say.  
  
"I checked with her job and apparently, she's  
quitting. She's already   
given her six weeks notice and from what I understand,  
she's leaving as  
soon as next week. Apparently, she purchased two  
one-way plane tickets  
to...guess where? Switzerland. She's moving kind of  
fast, don't you  
think? Well, let me know if there's anything else you  
need. I'll keep in  
touch."   
  
Click!  
  
I leaned back in my chair, startled at what Winslow  
had just revealed.   
Little Heather seemed to be hiding something. But  
what? And who was she   
contacting down in Mexico? The motorcycle club and the  
  
trip was also a surprise, and now two one-way plane  
tickets to  
Switzerland? Heather was full of surprises. I had  
many questions and  
didn't know where to start. I thought about Mike's  
place and felt an  
urgent need to go through it, but I had to get  
permission from Nancy to  
let me take a look around inside. Maybe there's  
something the police  
missed. I reached over and picked up the phone to  
dial her number. By  
now I had the damn thing memorized. There were a few  
rings before the  
phone picked up.  
  
" Spiolie residence," a female voice answered.   
  
"Yes, um, may I speak with Nancy please?"  
  
"Who's calling?" the voice asked politely.  
  
"Toni Brigatti," I said.   
  
There was a rustling sound before Nancy's voice came  
on.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi Nancy...Toni again. Look, I was just wondering if  
I could take  
a look around inside of Michael's beach house?"  
  
"Sure. But I think the police have already gone over  
it...."  
  
"I know," I interrupted. " But I just want to take  
another look around,   
you know, to kind of check things out for myself."  
  
"Well...I-I don't see why that would be a problem.  
Everything is just   
as it was. I haven't done any cleaning up or anything.  
Too painful...  
you know."  
  
I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me.   
"Yeah, I understand."  
  
"So when would you like to see it?"  
  
I checked my watch. "Is this morning okay?"   
  
"Sure...wait a sec..." It sounded as if she had  
placed her hand over   
the receiver to talk to someone. The voices were to  
muffled to really  
make out anything. There was another slight rustle and  
then her voice  
came back over.   
  
"You know Toni, I'm sort of busy right now, but my  
husband Stanley said   
that he would be more than happy to let you in."  
  
"Sure," I said, remembering how sweet Stanley was.   
  
"You got the address?" she asked.  
  
"I think so," I said fishing through the pile of  
papers on my desk   
until I brought out a piece of paper with Mike's  
address on it.   
  
"1701 Beach Terrace?" I asked.  
  
"That's it. How long will it take you to get over  
there?"  
  
I checked my watch again. "Umm...about a half hour?"  
  
"Okay, Stanley will be waiting out front."  
  
"Okay thanks."  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Bye."   
  
I hung up and checked my watch. It was 10:00 am. I  
could make it there   
by 10:30. I wasn't sure what I expected to find at  
Mike's place, but   
you just never know. I've had cases where the smallest  
little piece of   
thread or lint in a murder investigation broke the  
case. I should only  
hope that I could find something, anything, that would  
let me know  
whether or not Michael had killed himself or if he  
had been killed.  
  
I quickly downed the rest of my coffee and stood,  
grabbing my purse   
from my desk. Removing my **24** magnum from my desk  
drawer, I checked  
to make sure I had enough ammo before sliding it into  
my purse. I  
lowered the window, making sure to lock it before  
heading out the door,  
locking it behind me too. 


	6. Chasing Shadows Chapter 1011

Chasing Shadows  
By Candace Waters  
Posted 2002  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 10  
  
The morning was overcast and the traffic, heavy, as  
I hit the expressway, headed south east of Chicago.  
It was a good 45 minutes drive out to the beach. Due  
to the morning commute and the rain, it had taken me  
much longer to get there than I had expected.  
  
Stanley Spiolie was waiting for me when I arrived.  
I could see his tall muscular frame leaning against his  
car, his arms folded across his chest. He glanced over  
in my direction as I pulled up across the road in front  
of the house. Smiling that charismatic smile of his,  
he rose from his recline, straightening his pant leg as  
he proceeded towards my car.  
  
I got out of the car, grabbing the pouch that I carry with  
me when I do my investigating work, and my flash light  
from the glove compartment and walked across the road  
to meet him.  
  
"Ms Brigatt," he greeted with a smile. "So nice to see  
you again."  
  
I noticed that he was dressed more casually  
this time in jeans, a green sweater and brown heavy  
coat. The green sweater set off the green flecks in  
his eyes.  
  
"Please, call me Toni." I said.  
  
"Toni," he smiled, his large gloved hand engulfing mine  
with ease as we shook. There was a strong grip behind  
his shake, his muscular arms were evident beneath his  
coat sleeve that he had lifted many a jackhammer in his day.  
  
We stood a moment, observing the little bungalow  
which was surrounded by over hanging   
branches of a eucalyptus tree.   
  
"Very nice." I commented looking around. I had always  
wanted a place near the beach.  
  
"Mike sure loved it here," Stanley smiled. "It's not much,  
but it was his home and he spent a lot of his time out  
here."  
  
He motioned forward, and we started towards the house,  
the sound of our shoes crunching on the gravel path  
of the road.  
  
When we got to the house, Stanley paused momentarily  
to up pull some weeds that had sprung up   
along the cracks in the walkway.   
  
"Sorry for such short notice." I apologized, watching  
as he pulled up a few more of the prickly dandelions  
before tossing them to the side.  
  
"It's no problem." He assured me. " I haven't been  
out here since ---" he hesitated for a moment, "well, you  
know. Anyway, I'm glad that you got me out here. I hate  
to see the place go to ruins."  
  
I followed him up a flight of steps to the door. From  
his belt, he unhooked a large ring that looked as though  
it held a thousand keys rattling around on it. Fingering  
quickly through them, he found the appropriate key,  
slipped it into the lock and we inside.  
  
It was deathly cold inside of the house, having stood  
empty for months since the police's last search.  
  
Looking around, the house appeared much larger than  
I had expected. A large fireplace of black and white stone,  
covered part of one wall. In the center of the room was  
a black leather sofa which gave the place a masculine  
feel. In front of the sofa was a black glass table, particles  
of dust covered the top. The wet bar in the corner of the  
room was the perfect touch for the neatly arranged,  
bachelor pad. A sliding glass door in front of the couch led  
out to the deck that faced out towards the beach.  
  
I knew that the police and forensic people had already  
done a thorough search  
of the house and had gone over everything. The table  
where Heather had found  
the suicide note had been cleared of any papers and  
everything had been taken  
in as evidence.  
  
As promised, I got started right away, beginning with  
the small nook of a  
kitchen. I did a quick check of everything--windows,  
cupboard, sink--but found  
nothing of importance.  
  
My gaze followed the smoky gray carpeting that led  
down a small hall space and  
branched off into other rooms of the bungalow. To the  
left were two rooms and   
across the hall another. I noticed that right above  
the baseboard of the  
carpet was what looked like small flakes of red, and I  
knelt down to take a  
closer look.   
  
Blood?   
  
If so, how did forensics miss it? I removed a plastic  
evidence bag that I  
kept in my pouch, along with a small cotton swab. I  
did a quick swipe of the  
area, collecting what I could from before sealing the  
entire swab in the  
plastic bag, then tucked it into my pouch.   
  
"Tedious work for a such a young lady like yourself,"  
Stanley commented.  
  
Unaware that Stanley had been watching, I turned to look up  
at him. His back was to me as he examined the  
frame of the front door.  
  
"It can be challenging at times" I said, "but I like what I do."  
I rose to my feet and stood for a moment, watching him  
fiddle around with the jams of the door. It certainly  
appeared that Stanley was the hands on type of guy, always  
fixing things. I cleared my throat to get his attention and he  
turned around to look at me.  
  
"Sorry," he shrugged, and rose to his feet.  
  
I smiled, " It's okay, I just wouldn't want to disturb what  
may be left of any evidence..ah... you understand."  
  
"Yes...yes I do," he nodded. "Maybe I should  
wait outside?"  
  
"It's really not necessary" I said. "It will just take a few  
minutes."  
  
"That's okay, I'll.. just...wait out here... out of  
your way." He said,  
motioning to the balcony. Fishing into his shirt  
pocket for his pack of  
cigarettes, he stepped outside onto the deck. Looking  
at him, I could see what  
Nancy found special about this gentle giant. Nancy was  
sure one lucky lady.   
  
I smiled, shaking my head, then proceeded towards the  
first room and took a  
peek inside. It was a bedroom, small in size yet large  
enough to accommodate a  
king-sized bed and a chest of drawers comfortably. I  
walked towards the closet  
and slid back one of the doors. Nothing surprising  
there, just a few pieces  
of men's clothing. I searched the closet space and  
along the metal track at  
the base of the door, then rose and pushed aside the  
shirts to check the back  
of the closet, with my flashlight.  
  
Nothing.  
  
I moved towards the large chifferobe and pulled open  
the drawers, checking  
them one by one. They, too, were empty. I closed it  
up and stepped back out  
into the hallway to check the other room which had  
been used as Mike's office.  
The large desk immediately drew my attention. I knew  
that the police had  
probably taken everything that may have been of value,  
but I wanted to check  
it anyway. It was one of those old antique roll-top  
desks, very beautiful,  
very classy, and when opened, very empty.  
  
Why wasn't I surprised?  
  
Stanley had grown quiet out on the balcony. I closed  
the top and stepped back  
out into the hallway to check on him, only to see what  
he had found to occupy   
his time. He was seated on a chair, puffing away  
contentedly on his cigarette,  
his head leaning back against the wall as he examined  
the overhanging vines  
that ran along the porch. Good. He seemed relaxed.  
  
"So how many rooms in this place?" I called out,  
going back into the room to  
see what else might spark my interest. I pulled out a  
pair of gloves from my  
pouch and moved towards the window behind the large  
desk.   
  
"Well, if you count the john... five!" He called back.  
  
I parted the curtain and ran the gloved hand carefully  
along the windowsill,   
picking up dirt, debris, and anything else that would  
cling to it. I worked  
fast, collecting all that I needed and turned from the  
window. Pulling off the  
glove, I placed it carefully into a separate plastic  
bag and sealed the top.   
  
"You all right in there?" Stanely's voice called out  
suddenly from the porch.   
  
"Doing just fine!" I called back, stepping out into  
the hallway. "So, Stanley,  
what kind of work do you do?" I asked.  
  
He glanced over in my direction through the opened  
door. "I own a small  
construction business. But believe me, nothing quite  
as interesting as what  
you do," he chuckled.  
  
"You think this is interesting?" I arched an eyebrow  
at him. "You should see  
me up late some nights, going over notes, examining  
and reexamining the  
evidence. Writing up my report is the worst." I  
groaned and crossed the   
hall to check the small bathroom off to the side.  
  
I could hear his chuckle again, deep and infectious  
and it made me smile.   
  
I took a peek inside the bathroom, the fresh  
smell of soap and   
water hitting me in the nose . I glanced over at the  
toilet and the small,  
old-fashioned sink sitting beside it. I walked over  
and pulled open the  
medicine chest right above the sink. Inside were two  
used tooth brushes a used  
tube of tooth paste and a bottle of aspirin. I closed  
the cabinet, then  
squatted to open the door below the sink. A large  
spider scurried out and I  
jumped back. Arrruggh! I hate spiders almost as much  
as I hate cats!   
  
Dusting my hands, I rose from the floor, then moved  
towards the bath tub and  
paused. With the curtains drawn together as they were,  
I was immediately  
reminded of the movie Psycho movie, complete with  
knife-wielding lunatic  
slashing the shower curtain. This is silly! I thought  
and quickly yanked the  
curtain aside to find, dangling from a long twisted  
rope, a hunk of soap. I  
let out an unexpected laugh. I had always hated those  
things! But I suppose  
it was better than finding Norman Bates staring out at  
me. My outbursts  
provoked a curious inquiry from Stanley.  
  
"You okay? Need my help" He mused.  
  
"Oh..no. Everythings...fine," I called over my shoulder, feeling  
utterly foolish. Actually, I really did need help. The kind   
provided by the nice men in the white coats.  
  
I looked around the tub, seeing little more than  
half-empty bottles of shower  
gel in a caddy. I reached over to touch the soap on a  
rope, and was quite  
surprised to find it slightly sticky. A washcloth hung  
around the neck of the  
shower head, and I was even more surprised to find  
that it wasn't   
stiff, nor was it completely dry. Obviously, someone  
had been here since  
Mike's disappearance.   
  
I turned from the bathtub and walked back into the  
living room, joining Stanley out on the balcony.   
  
Upon hearing my steps, he turned around.  
"Find anything of significance?" he asked.  
  
Looking round, the view of the beach was  
breathtaking and I drew in a peaceful breath  
"Yeah." I said, " That I am going to have to start  
saving up my lunch money to buy myself a place  
like this."  
  
He chuckled.  
  
"So how long have you been in this...profession?" he asked.  
  
" Since going solo? Not long. About a year and a  
half." I said, tilting my   
face up to the sky. Up above, seagulls circled about,  
their wings spread wide,  
as they floated gracefully across the bleak morning  
sky.   
  
"It is quite relaxing isn't it?" Stanley said.  
  
"Yes it is," I sighed, clutching my coat together to  
shield against a gust of  
wind that drifted in suddenly from the ocean. Both of us grew  
quiet for a moment,  
enjoying the tranquillity of it all. I personally  
could have stood there for  
days just enjoying the view, but I knew that I had to  
get back to the business   
at hand.   
  
"So, tell me about Mike," I asked abruptly turning to  
face him.  
  
Surprised by the sudden question, Stanley turned to  
look at me. I suppose he  
felt that we had already gone over that whole subject  
with Nancy at their home  
the other day. If he thought it, he didn't let on.   
Looking thoughtful, he  
pulled out another cigarette and placed it between his  
lips.   
  
"Mike was a good man. Young and impressionable." He  
drew in deeply, then  
exhaled in a cloud of smoke. "He was in love. After  
Nancy told him about  
removing him from the will....I suppose he lost it  
after that. I-I don't  
know. "  
  
"Did he know that he was to inherit all of the money  
after he married?"  
  
"Yes, he knew it. But knowing Mike, he loved his  
sister and would have done  
right by her. "  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Well, Mike felt bad about what his father did, guilty  
somehow. He didn't want to exclude Nancy from the  
inheritance. He was really down to earth. He could  
have bought an expensive home to live in, but he  
preferred to live a simple life. This place was the first  
place he ever purchased."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I guess you could say it was his first big invest-  
ment." he smiled lighting up another cigarette.  
  
I smiled.  
  
"Mike loved his sister, Toni. He would have thought  
nothing of splitting his  
wealth with her. They were siblings, for god's sake.   
It's just how he was.   
Nancy was afraid, though. She knew the type of woman  
Heather was, and was  
afraid that she might...." He hesitated a moment.  
  
"Somehow persuade him to keep it?" I ventured.  
  
He glanced at me briefly then added, "Or squander it all away."  
  
I simply nodded.   
  
The crashing sound of the water hitting the rocks  
drew our attention back to the beach. I held my hair away  
from my face and we turned watching quietly as the waves  
rolled in splashing white against the shore. Soon the water was  
calm again. Over head, skies were dark, promising another   
down pour. I felt a chill and pulled my coat tighter around me  
for warmth  
  
"I worry about Nancy though." Stanley spoke,   
his voice sounding faint in the wind beside me.  
  
I turned to look at him. "Why is that?"  
  
"It's really tearing her apart. I mean, she still believes  
Mike may be alive somehow and can't deal with the fact  
that....he's gone."  
  
"Do you think he's alive." I asked, "I mean...the notes  
and all. What do you think happened to him?"  
  
"Personally?" He asked. "I think it might be possible  
that Mike..." he paused briefly to look at me, trying  
hard to choose his next phrase carefully. "That he did  
take his life. He was heartbroken when Nancy  
expressed her disapproval of Heather. She was the love  
of his life."  
  
"But Nancy seems very certain that he's alive." I frowned,  
perplexed that the two of them could be so divided on  
the issue.  
  
"I know...I-I mean, I don't know." he shrugged running a  
hand over his face. He drew in a tired breath then glanced  
over at me. " That's why hired you."  
  
I studied his face for a moment, feeling suddenly pressured  
to work a miracle. " I'll do what I can." I said.  
  
He reached up fishing in his coat pocket for his lighter  
and something white fluttered out onto the deck.  
I glanced down. Laying beside Stanley's  
large size 14's was a 3x4 index card and I bent to  
pick it up. Easy Rider, the card read.   
  
"You into bikes?" I asked handing him the card.  
  
He seemed embarrassed. A flush rose up to cover his  
face as he reached over, taking the card. "Yes...yes I  
am. It's a..ahh motorcycle club that I belong too." He  
said, slipping the card back into his pocket. "Thanks."  
  
"Easy Rider huh?" I teased.  
  
"My only vise besides these." He confessed with a grin,  
holding up a partially finished cigarette. I laughed.  
  
"Was Mike into motorcycles too?" I asked.  
  
"No. He wasn't into anything of that sort. I tried to get  
him to buy one, but it just wasn't his thing I guess.  
Nancy despises it. You know, afraid of our being hurt."  
  
I smiled remembering the very first time I had ridden on one.  
My first highschool boyfriend used to take me out for a spin  
on his, much to Frank's and Rosette's dismay. But I was  
hooked after that and could actually ride a pretty mean bike  
if I must say so myself. Later on after I joined the academy,  
Frank used to tease me about it saying that it was probably  
the reason I had become a cop.  
  
"Do you take many motorcycle road trips?" I asked.  
  
"Actually, not as many as I would like." Stanley chuckled.  
"It's not Nancy's idea of fun."  
  
I smiled again, taking one last look around before  
stepping back from the  
railing of the porch. "Well," I drew in a long breath, "I  
suppose I'm through."   
  
"So soon?" Stanley took a last drag from his  
cigarette before dropping it on  
the ground and pressing it out with the toe of his  
large boot.  
  
"Hey, I said I'd only be a moment didn't I?" I boasted  
proudly.  
  
Checking to make sure that I had everything I had  
brought in with me, we  
walked towards the door. I thought about the soap and  
wash cloth, then turned  
to Stanley who was locking the glass door to the  
balcony.   
  
"Has anyone used this bungalow or been up here since  
the police?" I asked.  
  
Stanley turned to me, blinking thoughtfully. "Not as  
far as I know," he said,  
shaking his head. " I mean, the place has been locked  
up ever sense. I  
haven't even been up here. Why do you ask?"  
  
I shrugged, shaking my head. "No reason."   
  
Taking a last survey of my supplies, and finding  
everything accounted for, I  
looked up at him. "Ready?"  
  
"Ready when you are, little lady."   
  
He opened the door, and we stepped outside into the  
brisk air. My search had  
only taken about thirty minutes. Stanley had been very  
cooperative and was  
such a gentle man with a spirit that would melt your  
heart. Nancy was   
fortunate to have him.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chapter 11  
  
I pulled my BMW up in front of Maginty's, turned off  
the engine, and sat for  
a moment, wondering what the *hell* I was doing there.  
  
I could not believe that Hobson had mistaken my threat  
as an invitation for a  
date. Nevertheless, he had looked so vulnerable  
standing there when I pulled   
off from the cafe' that morning, I decided that maybe  
I had been a little rude  
to him. Okay, maybe I was just down right nasty and I  
supposed it wouldn't  
hurt to drop by to give him a decent 'thank you'.   
After all, he had saved my  
life at that department store. I suppose that while I  
was here, it also  
wouldn't hurt to see if he wanted to take in a movie  
sometime and for me to  
even consider asking a man out was simply something I  
did not do.   
  
I checked my watch. It was still early, only about  
2:00. I had already taken  
the evidence that I had collected from Mike's place  
over to the lab I used  
down at the police station to be tested. The small red  
splotch had especially   
sparked my interest. I would have to wait to see what  
developed. With spare  
time on my hands, I had enough time to go home,  
shower, and somehow found  
myself in front of Maginty's.  
  
I reached up and pulled the sunvisor down to check my  
face in the mirror. Not  
bad. I thought, giving my hair a quick finger comb.  
Hobson should be so  
lucky! Feeling suddenly foolish and vain for having  
done this in public I  
quickly pushed the visor back into place. What the  
hell was happening to me?  
Hobson had me doing all of this?   
  
I drew in a nervous breath and got out of the car.  
Pulling the hood of my coat  
up I scurried in out of the rain, praying that  
Hobson's cat had been replaced  
with a stuffed one.  
  
It was dimly lit inside of the bar. Soft music filled  
the air, along with the  
aroma of freshly baked pizza, hot pretzels and beer.   
  
At one of the counters, a few of the customers had  
gathered around, beer mugs in hand, their  
faces tilted upward as they watched an afternoon  
football game on the television mounted on the wall.   
  
The place still looked good and despite the bad  
weather, there were quite a  
few people out. Hobson was doing all right for  
himself.   
  
I did a quick scan of the bar and spotted Marissa, his  
business partner,  
seated alone at a table next to the office. With her  
head held high, her  
fingers moved quickly over some documents on the table  
in front of her. She  
was reading something and seemed completely absorbed.  
  
Peeling off my gloves, I made a beeline towards  
her table, but before I could open my mouth to offer a  
greeting, she stopped abruptly and tilted her head.  
Staring straight ahead, a slow grin spread across her face.  
  
"Brigatti," she smiled. It wasn't a question.  
  
I was flabbergasted.   
  
"How did you-? Ahh...n-never mind." I shook my  
head, dismissing the question. I glanced down to   
check my watch asking, instead, "How are  
you, Marissa?"  
  
"Just fine," she said. "A-And it was by your walk."  
  
I glanced back up. "Excuse me?"  
  
"In answer to your first question? I-I could tell that  
it was you by the sound of your....walk," she said hesitantly   
and blew out a breath as if ashamed for having said too much.   
  
I stared at her for a moment. The woman simply amazed  
me, although I wasn't sure if what she  
had just revealed was a compliment or not.   
Looking at her now, I could see why Hobson valued their  
friendship. Despite her impairment, she seemed to be   
very intelligent. A great asset to Hobson and  
the business. She was also rather attractive.  
  
She was smartly dressed in a crisp white blouse and  
black skirt. Her skin was a shiny smooth, the  
color of deep chocolate. Her hair was styled  
differently every time I saw her. Today it was braided  
in tiny braids, the sides pulled comfortably up behind her ear  
and hung to her shoulders.  
  
Her sightless eyes wavered slightly as she stared  
past me, but I could detect the wheels of her  
mind turning, probably pondering the reason for my  
unexpected call.   
  
"Hobson around?" I asked, tucking my gloves into my  
pocket.   
.  
"G-Gary?" She stammered. "Well  
he's --ahh---."  
  
"It's okay, I know where it is. Thanks," I said  
quickly, and without  
hesitation, breezed past her through the office door.   
I had been upstairs  
enough times to know how to get to Hobson's loft. As I  
made my way around the   
two desks, I almost expected to see him asleep on the  
sofa as I passed it and  
made my way up the stairs in back.  
  
It was quiet in the foyer at the top of the stairs. No  
sign of that cat, thank  
goodness. I paused just in front of the door and drew  
in a deep breath.  
Lifting a hand reluctantly, I knocked.   
  
No answer.   
  
I checked my watch, thinking if Hobson didn't answer  
this time, I would leave. I waited a few  
minutes longer, then tapped again.   
  
This time, through the bumpy glass window, I could  
see a soft figure moving   
towards the door. The latched clicked and the door  
opened slightly. Out peeked  
a pretty brunette, clutching a large bath towel around  
her petite frame, her wavy shoulder length hair dripping  
wet as she made an attempt to move out of the way of the door.   
  
Like a cold fist hitting me in the gut, I was  
stunned. I should have known that Hobson  
wouldn't be any different!  
  
"I-I'm sorry, I thought you were Marissa," she said,  
beads of water running from her bare shoulder as   
she adjusted the towel.  
  
Shocked, I felt my face flush. Whether it was from   
embarrassment, or anger I don't know, but I tried hard   
to reason the situation thinking, either this woman had just  
gotten out of the shower, she and Hobson had just gotten  
out of the shower, or Hobson had a big o hole in his roof, rain   
was pouring in and the two of them had gotten drenched trying to   
catch the drops in buckets! What a fool I was for coming here!   
  
Trying to regain some measure of my composure, I cleared  
my throat, and mustered up a strong, "Hi," all the while trying  
not to look past her wet creamy shoulder for that dirty, no good,  
two timing--  
  
"...Gary?"  
  
"Huh?" I blinked. Surely I hadn't just spoken that  
thought aloud.   
  
"I said you must be looking for Gary," she repeated.   
  
I stared at her for a moment, conjuring up a mental  
picture of Hobson still in the shower. Or  
would he be in the bedroom by now?   
  
I shook my head to clear it of the thought. "Maybe I  
came at a bad time," I said.  
  
"Gary's not here at the moment." she said, smoothing  
back a wet strand of hair from her face. " I-I mean   
he wasn't here when I got here this morning."   
  
I stared at her for a moment before realizing  
that I hadn't introduced myself yet and  
stuck out a hand. "Brigatti. Ahh...private  
investigator," I said, adding the 'investigator' part  
in hopes of making this visit look like a business  
one.   
  
She looked flustered, adjusting the towel  
awkwardly with her left hand  
while reaching out a damp right hand and we shook. Looking  
at her draped in Hobson's towel, she seemed about as   
uncomfortable as I was. She followed my gaze glancing   
down at her disrobed state and her cheeks tinted slightly,  
  
"Gary and I are...old friends." she stammered nervously,  
"I'm in town on business  
and forgot my credit cards and cash. I needed a place  
to freshen up so I  
stopped by to sort of....borrow his... shower." She  
bit her lip, realizing that she had probably given out more   
information than was necessary. "My name's Meredith.   
W-Would you like to come in and wait for him?"  
  
"No--thanks." I said dryly wiping my now, damp hand down   
the side of my coat. I could feel the heat rise to my face again as her words resonated round in my head.  
  
In town on business. Oh sure! And...kind of friends? I'll  
bet! And sort of borrowed his shower? What the  
*hell* was that supposed to mean??! And no, I wouldn't  
like to come in!   
  
At that moment, I was pretty ticked, and could have  
slugged somebody. Hobson preferably. I swallowed hard,   
knowing that I needed to get grip. I mean, why the heck did   
I care who Hobson bust suds with anyway?   
  
"Did you say, private investigator?" she asked, wiping a   
trickle of water from her eye.  
  
"That's right," I answered rather smugly. "Ahh...look,  
tell Hobson that I stopped by, huh? And that  
there has been a change in ... plans."   
  
"Plans?"   
  
I had hit a nerve.  
  
"Ahh...confidential," I said, wrinkling my nose at  
her, "You know, police business and all. I'll contact  
him later."   
  
Turning to leave, my eyes dropped to the towel that she   
clutched around her naked frame and I suggested tactfully,  
"Maybe you should put something on that. Wouldn't want  
you to catch cold." Flashing a quick smile, I turned on my   
heel and stalked off. It seemed to take forever to get down the  
flight of stairs I was so mad. Why the hell did I come here  
anyway! If Hobson was seeing someone then, why would  
he lead me on!   
  
Everything was in a haze, as I made my way through the  
office and out to the bar. Marissa was merely a blur as   
I passed her on my way out.  
  
"Thanks huh?" I called to her over my shoulder trying  
hard to sound nonchalant  
as I stormed out of the bar, slamming the door behind  
me. I climbed into my BMW, gunned the engine and sped  
off towards home. 


	7. Chasing Shadows Chapter 1213

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 12  
  
I spent the next couple of days going between my  
apartment and the office, making calls and  
checking my notes while waiting for the test results  
on the red marks to come back from the lab. I had also  
gotten some time in at the shooting range. Keeping  
brushed up on my marksmanship is a must in this  
profession and aside from jogging it's also a great  
way to get rid of some pinned up hostility and well  
other frustrations I won't go into because it  
well...nevermind.  
  
During one of those two days, I had been invited to  
have dinner with the Spiolies at their lovely  
home and gotten to know the two of them a little  
better. Not wanting to upset them, I didn't mention  
that I suspected someone may have been using Mike's   
house, *since* his disappearance. The lab results may  
shed some light on things.  
  
I got to know a little bit more about Stanley's small  
construction company, 'Spiolie Construction'-- which was   
currently building out of town--and that Stanley had taken   
a trip last summer to Jamaica on business to promote the   
little company.  
  
The Spiolies were such a loving couple. I could see  
just how much Stanley adored Nancy. He  
was very caring towards her, and for her peace of  
mind, he wanted to see this whole thing through.   
Why is it that all of the good ones are taken?   
  
At that moment the thought of Hobson crossed   
my mind and I shuddered, causing the stack of  
letters to slip from my lap onto the floor.   
  
Cursing silently, I crouched down to gather them up.  
As I slid the letters into a neat little pile, I thought  
about the towel woman in Hobson's apartment, wondering  
if that was his type.  
  
I questioned myself about what it was I was feeling  
for the man, since he and I have nothing what so ever in   
common. I'm bold and straight forward. He' s secretive,   
kind of shy. I' m with law enforcement. He shys away  
from it. I hate cats! He has one. Absolutely nothing  
in common. I had no reason for going over to his  
apartment in the first place, and what ever  
"extracurricular activity" Hobson chose to do in his spare  
time, was his business!  
  
The telephone rang suddenly, and I scrambled up  
quickly to answer it. It was Winslow informing  
me that the test results of the splotches had come  
back from the lab, which was a *very* good thing,  
because I was just contemplating on marching back over  
to the bar to shoot Hobson!   
  
Stacking what was left of the unopened letters on my  
desk, I grabbed my coat and hurried out the  
door.   
  
********************  
Chapter 13  
  
When I got to the lab, Winslow was already there and  
so was Jim Kerpinsky, the lab technician.  
Both men had their heads down, pouring over some  
documents on the desk in front of them. They   
glanced up as I entered the lab.   
  
"Brigatti," Jim smiled, peering over the top of his  
spectacles.  
  
"Hey Jim. Winslow," I greeted both men.  
  
"Brigatti," Winslow grinned, raking a patch of blond  
hair back from his forehead. The motion made his blue eyes  
wrinkle slightly in the corners.  
  
Sliding a lock of hair behind my ear, I arched an  
eyebrow with curious impatience, looking from  
one to the other. "So? What do we have?"   
  
Drawing a deep breath, Winslow took the initiative.  
  
"Well, the results of the tests on those red  
marks...splotches... show something very interesting."  
He handed me the forms, and I began scanning through  
them carefully.  
  
There was a lot of information talking about aluminum  
bauxite, sodium silicate solution, carbide  
lime and gypsum tailings.... whatever that heck that  
was. Scientific technical-sounding terms and names I  
hadn't heard since chemistry during my college days.  
The word bauxite did seemed to ring a bell with me  
though, and I glanced up at Jim for clarification.  
"Aluminum bauxite?"  
  
"It's a mineral found in a certain type of dirt used  
mainly in construction," Jim said, removing his  
glasses.   
  
"Construction?"   
  
"Yeah. Bauxite waste. Red mud is another term for  
it." He rose from his chair and walked over to  
a large, clear medical cabinet and pulled it open. He  
reached in and removed a clear tube marked  
'Bauxite' and handed it to me. I examined the  
strange-looking substance inside of the glass tubing  
and glanced back up at him.  
  
"That's it?" I raised a brow in surprise. "Plain old  
dirt?"  
  
"Well, that depends on how you want to look at it,"  
Jim chuckled. "Actually, according to some  
experts, it can be very useful in the construction  
industry. It can be manufactured into bricks or blocks  
for building without using the energy firing process  
normally used to make clay bricks, making it a lot  
cheaper to manufacture and purchase. Using bauxite and  
other wastes to make these building material can  
have many possible advantages in the very near  
future."  
  
I stared at him for a moment, trying to let the  
information sink in.   
  
"So, Mr. Spiolie's a contractor. It's a possibility  
that maybe he's experimenting with that idea," I  
said.   
  
"I thought about that, too." Winslow cut in, "I did  
some checking and apparently, there's no  
construction company using that type of dirt in  
Chicago or anywhere in Illinois."  
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
"Very sure."  
  
Great. "So how would this substance get into Mike's  
apartment?" I wondered out loud. "I mean,  
where would it have come from?"  
  
Jim shrugged, replacing his glasses. "Well...  
actually, there are numerous ways it could have  
gotten in there. I mean....some people collect dirt,  
or it may have even been brought back on someone's  
shoes, tires..."   
  
"Shoes?" I glanced up from the forms.  
  
"It's possible," Jim shrugged in confirmation.  
  
"Is this type of dirt found in Jamaica?"   
  
"Now that you ask, yes. The Jamaica Institute has  
been experimenting with the process for years,  
but because of lack of funding, it was put on hold and  
nothing else really became of it."  
  
I turned to look at Winslow, who in turn looked up  
from the paper at me.   
  
"So in the future, housing may be more affordable,  
and a lot cheaper to buy just by using this  
process."  
  
"Some people think so," Jim added.  
  
Risqué' investment...but that might explain Stanley's  
business trip to Jamaica. I looked over at  
Jim. "Thanks."  
  
By the time I got home, it was late. I let myself in,  
not bothering to turn on the lights, simply  
ignored the flashing red light from the answering  
machine and plopped down on my bed. There was just  
too much information swirling around in my head right  
now, and I had developed a headache.   
  
If Stanley hadn't made any visits to Mike's bungalow  
since Mike's disappearance, then how the  
hell did the dirt get there? Unless of course, Mr.  
Spiloie was lying. But why would he lie about  
something like that?  
  
The light on my answering machine was beginning to  
irritate me. I reached over and tapped the  
playback button, then began to undress.  
  
((Beep))!  
  
"Brigatti...th-this is Gary."  
  
I paused, mid-sweater removal, to listen.   
  
"Marrisa said that you came by a couple of days ago..  
Sorry I-I missed you. Oh, and you  
probably met Meredith ...who's a-a friend of mine.  
A-Anyway, I was just returning your call, even though  
your call was made by foot."  
  
He let out a nervous laugh and I could just picture  
him running his fingers through his hair.   
  
"Ahh...anyway, I'm not quite clear why you came by.  
Marissa wasn't sure...she said you didn't  
say, and my...ah.. friend Meredith, left me a note saying  
that it seemed important. But if it's about my being  
at that store, well..well I-I already told you! A-Anyway,  
I have to make a quick run tonight, but I'll call you  
back tomorrow. Well..talk to you then...er, take  
care."   
  
There was a click and he was gone. I sat there  
seething quietly for a moment. Of course he wasn't  
going to admit that he was on the other side of that  
door with his so called friend, Miss Merrymaker! He's  
not that dumb!  
  
I resumed my undressing, pulling my sweater off over  
my head with a vengeance, tossing it into  
the closet. I pulled off my boots one at a time,  
slamming them into the closet one by one. Hobson only  
made my headache worse!  
  
The answering machine beep again interrupting my  
private tirade. It was Winslow.  
  
"Hey Toni. Winslow. Look, I got some information that  
I thought you might find interesting.  
Right after you left the lab this evening, I made a  
few more calls and found out that back in June,  
Heather had taken a little trip. And guess where? Jamaica.  
Seems she belongs to some type of motorcycle club  
too, the name slips my mind at the moment. Our little  
Heather it seems is a motorcycle mama," he  
chuckled, then continued. "Anyway, I thought that was  
an interesting tidbit. She just doesn't look the   
type, you know? "  
  
I was stunned by what Winslow had just revealed. So  
Heather belonged to a motorcycle club too?  
I remembered that Stanley had mentioned that Mike had  
no interest what-so-ever in motorcycles, so it was  
kind of odd that Heather had gone on a road trip, but  
with whom?   
  
My head was pounding. I rubbed my temples, trying to  
ease some of the pressure. I was thinking too hard and lay  
back across my bed.   
  
I suddenly remembered the phone number in Mexico  
Winslow had left on my answering machine  
the other day. I got up and pulled out my note pad. I  
switched on the night light then flipped through the  
tablet until I found the number. I needed to see who  
was on the other end of that number. I dialed, let it  
ring for a few minutes, and was about to hang up when  
an operator came on the line.   
  
"Operator in Mexico. The party you are trying to  
contact is no longer at that service and there is  
no new number."  
  
Why was I not surprised?  
  
I hung up the phone, switched off the light, and laid  
back again, but let's face it--it was useless  
trying to sleep. The thought of Heather and Stanley  
taking a trip to Jamaica and both having an interest  
in motorcycles was simply blowing my mind. The  
similarities were just too close for comfort. And then  
there was the plane tickets to Switzerland. What was little  
Heather up to?  
  
I got a sudden urge to take a little drive out to the  
Spiolie construction site. I was fully aware that  
Winslow had said that there were no companies using  
any red dirt in Chicago or Illinois, but I needed to  
check things out for myself. I couldn't sleep anyway,  
and felt the drive would do me some good.   
  
I got up and slipped on a pair of jeans, then pulled  
on my sweater and boots. I unlocked my  
dresser drawer, where I keep some of my guns, then  
slid out the case where I kept my little .22 .  
Although it's low on the power scale, it's still pretty damn  
deadly, and makes a great secondary. I strapped  
it onto my leg, then pulled my pant leg down to cover  
it. Satisfied, I reached for my main sidearm, a  
Glock .9mm standard issue. I checked the clip and  
found it full, but something told me that I might want  
to carry an extra for good measure. I slid it into my  
belt holster and pulled my sweater down over it. I  
briefly considered my .45, but seriously doubted that  
I'd need that kind of firepower for a simple  
reconnaissance. Besides, the Glock would certainly  
do the job....if needed. I pulled on my coat,  
grabbed my keys, and headed out the door. 


	8. Chasing Shadows Chapter 1415

Chasing Shadows  
By Candace Waters  
~~~~~~~~~~~`  
Chapter 14  
  
I took the highway heading north. It was drizzling now  
and traffic was sparse as I drove. It was an hour  
later when I finally pulled onto the gravel road next  
to the construction site. The night I had dinner with  
the Spiolie's at their home, Nancy had given me the  
address of where Stanley's company was currently  
building.   
  
Not wanting to draw attention to the car, I cruised  
along slowly--with only my parking lights on--and  
would have turned them out completely, but not knowing  
the grounds, the thought of ending up sitting in  
a ditch for the rest of the night just didn't appeal  
to me.  
  
I pulled up to a stop beside a large elm, cut the  
engine and turned off the lights. Running a hand along  
my leg of my pants, I felt for the small .22 caliber I  
had strapped there earlier, making sure it was secure,  
then removed the.9mm I had from my belt holster, checked it  
as well, and quickly slid it back into place.  
Gabbing my binoculars, I stepped out of the car,  
closing the door quietly behind me, and stood for a  
few minutes looking, just taking a good look around. A  
chainlink fence ran for miles along the construction  
site, separating it from the highway. Posted about  
were warning signs threatening a $300.00 dollar fine  
if anyone was caught trespassing.   
  
I drew in a nervous breath and glanced up. The skies  
were dark with gray swirls of patchy fog. It had  
stopped raining for the time being, and I knew that if I was  
going to be doing any snooping around tonight, I had  
better hurry.  
  
Removing my gloves from my coat pocket, I quickly  
tugged them on while peering through the fence into   
the shadowy darkness. The air was damp, and smelled of  
tar and wet concrete. Draping the binoculars  
around my neck, I swung beneath the chain link fence  
onto the construction site and started walking,  
allowing the thin moonlight to light my way. I didn't  
have a clue where I was headed, or what I would  
find on the grounds. I was fully aware that Winslow  
had said no company was using any Bauxite in  
Chicago. But being the stubborn woman that I am, I  
needed to see for myself what type of building   
material Stanley Spiolie *was* working with.   
  
The night air was brittle, stinging my nose and cheeks  
as I walked, mentally kicking myself for having not   
worn my scarf. I quickened my stride, passing up  
stacks of planks, rolls of iron pipes, and mounds of  
gravel and dirt the massive work trucks had shoveled  
to the side, clearing a passage way into the site. The  
night was deathly quiet, brought to life only by an  
occasional car passing along the highway that ran  
parallel to the site and the crunching of my boots on  
the gravel road.  
  
I must have walked a good quarter of a mile when I  
rounded a slight bend. In the distance, I could see a  
soft yellow light glowing. As I approached it, a large  
office trailer came into view, nestled back amongst a  
group of trees. Several of the muddy work trucks were  
parked haphazardly about out front.   
  
I slowed down a good distance away from the trailer  
and approached with caution. Moving behind a small  
diesel, I was close enough to hear the muffled  
conversation going on inside. I assumed they were some  
of the workers camping out for the night. Careful to stay  
out of the lighting, I knelt down taking a careful  
look around.  
  
There were two vehicles parked on the side of the  
trailer. One of them I recognized as Stanley's company  
truck with the name 'Spiolie Construction,' spelled  
out in huge white letters on the side. The other I  
didn't recognize, but it was a sharp-looking electric blue  
Mercedes Benz convertible. Cute.   
  
I turned my attention back to the trailer peering  
through the partially opened window. There were four  
figures moving about inside. Two were sitting, the  
other two were pacing the floor restlessly. One of  
them I assumed was female, because of the long blond hair  
that flowed about her shoulders every time she  
moved, unless of course Fabio was out making a late  
night publicity call. I pulled the binoculars up to  
focus in and get a better look, and was surprised by  
what I saw.   
  
One of the figures pacing the floor was.. Heather?! If  
my suspicions were correct, the tall fellow   
pacing the floor with her would almost have to be  
Stanley. I panned the binoculars over slowly to focus  
on the man. Bingo. Just as I had suspected. Stanley  
Spiolie.   
  
I couldn't tell the identity of the two men who were  
sitting, their faces were turned away from me, but  
both of them had their hands tied behind their backs and  
there seemed to be a heated conversation going on  
between one of them and Heather.   
  
A few words were exchanged between them, then Heather  
shaking her blond mane seductively, pranced   
over to where Stanley was and he reached for her. They  
kissed passionately, sending the man she had   
been arguing with into angry fits as he struggled hard  
to free himself. I withdrew the binoculars quickly to  
compose myself. What the *hell* was going on here?  
  
Replacing the binoculars, I panned about the trailer,  
and zoomed in again on the irate man who had been   
arguing with Heather. He turned abruptly and I was  
able to see his face more clearly. Startled, my mouth   
dropped open in surprise. It was the man in the photo!  
Nancy's missing brother Mike Calibre! His looked  
angry, his eyes full of fire as he sat glaring at  
Stanley.  
  
"How could you do this to Nancy! You-You bas--" he  
stopped abruptly and shot Heather a look. "How  
could you do this to me Heather? I loved you!" he  
shouted.  
  
Biting her lip, Heather shrugged. "I'm sorry  
Mike...really I am. But you see...I-I never really  
loved you. "  
  
"But we were married for God's sake!" Mike shouted.  
  
I arched a brow. Married?   
  
Heather held up a small hand, flashing the huge rock  
on her finger, the one I noticed she was wearing  
when I first met her in the department store. "Now  
I'll be a rich widow thank you very much." she  
laughed, wiggling her fingers in front of his face.  
Mike began to struggle again.  
  
The man sitting beside Mike was shifting restlessly on  
his seat then broke in quickly as if trying to defuse  
the situation.   
  
"Look..ah..." he stammered, " Ah....w-why don't the  
two of you just..ah..just let him go? Nobody's been  
hurt."."  
  
Puzzled, I lowered the binoculars. That stutter, that  
slight southern drawl. I frowned. Why did I know that  
voice?  
  
I replaced the binoculars quickly just in time to see  
Stanley rush across the trailer, and with a swift back  
hand, smack the man across the face, knocking him out  
his chair. I was able to get a real good look at the  
man now and almost swallowed my tongue. Hobson!   
What the hell was going on?  
  
Rubbing his knuckles, Stanley glanced suspiciously  
over at Heather, "You sure you don't know him?" he  
asked.  
  
"I told you. I've never seen him before in my life! "  
Heather snapped.   
  
His gaze still fixed on her, Stanley pulled a gun from  
his coat pocket and held it on the two men. "Well,  
now we have two to get rid of!" he scoffed.  
  
Heather blew out an impatient breath then rolled her   
eyes. She stalked over to where Hobson was still on the  
floor and stood over him. "Who are you and what the   
hell are you doing here?" she snapped.  
  
That was what I was wondering!   
  
I looked around and spotted one of the dump trucks much  
closer to the trailer and crouched over to it, then  
slid on my stomach beneath it. From where I was, I  
could now see and hear much better what was going  
on.  
  
"So what now?" Mike was asking, "Kill me?"  
  
"You're already dead, remember? " Heather laughed,  
"You committed suicide. We're just making it legal."  
  
Mike, looking puzzled, stopped struggling to stare up  
at her. "But our honeymoon in Mexico. Th-That meant  
nothing to you!"  
  
"I had to do whatever it took," Heather glanced over  
at Stanley to catch his reaction. Stanley looked both  
nervous and upset, then walked away.  
  
"You had this planned all along didn't you? " Mike  
sneered. "Y-You had this sick plot planned all along,  
to marry me and then kill me. And all for my money ?  
How could you--! I was willing to give you  
everything!"  
  
So where did Hobson fit into this cozy little  
pictured? I wondered. Turning my attention back to  
Hobson, he was still on th floor struggling to sit up. His  
lip, cut in the corner was bleeding, his face was  
swollen on the side, and I grimaced at the sight, hating to see  
him hurt, feeling foolish for even caring. I drew in a  
frustrated breath. Dammit Hobson!   
  
By now Hobson had managed to sit up. Breathing  
heavily, he struggled to speak. "L-Look..." he  
sputtered, "I-I called the cops before I came. Why don't you just  
let us go be-before someone really gets hurt, huh?"   
  
The sharp snapping of a twig sounded suddenly from  
behind me and my stomach lurched. I had been so   
engrossed in what was going on inside of the trailer,  
I had taken my eyes off of Stanley. I had the  
sickening feeling that I wasn't alone.   
  
My eyes searched frantically about for Stanley's tall  
frame inside of the trailer. He wasn't there.  
  
On my stomach, I was not in a good position to easily  
retrieve my gun. Before I could complete the  
thought, someone grabbed me roughly by the ankles and  
began pulling me out from beneath the truck.   
  
Grasping onto an iron axle beneath the truck, I held  
on as tight as I could, but the smoothness of my  
gloves made it difficult for me to hold my grip and  
with a violent force, I was yanked out, my chin  
scrubbing hard against the rough gravel of the ground.  
I rolled over quickly onto my back and found  
myself staring up into the startled face of Stanley  
Spiolie, his tall frame silhouetted against the night  
sky.   
  
Looking puzzled, he stood looking down at me,  
scratching his head. "Toni?"  
  
"Stanley." I sputtered, clearing my throat, dabbing at  
my bleeding chin with the back of my hand. What  
else was there to say. I was busted.  
  
Running a hand nervously over his face, he glanced  
over at the trailer window, then back down at me.  
"H-How much did you hear?"  
  
"Not much. " I lied, wrinkling my nose at him all the  
while hoping he hadn't discovered my gun strapped  
to my leg.   
  
"You shouldn't have come here,." he said, looking  
nervously around. His voice had taken on an edgy  
husky tone and I didn't like the sound of it. My eyes  
dropped to his large callused hands clutching his .32.  
  
"You shouldn't have been snooping around," he was  
glaring at me now. His statement had changed.  
  
"You're right, " I said. I checked my watch and drew  
in a tired breath. "Actually, it is rather late, and  
past my bedtime, so if you don't mind..." I made a move to  
get up, but he pushed me back down with his  
booted foot.   
  
"Ooh no you don't," he said, shaking his head, looking  
as if he didn't know exactly what to do with me. He  
glanced back over towards the trailer again. "S-So you  
saw Michael?"   
  
I didn't answer, my mind was racing while trying to  
plan my escape.   
  
"You know I can't let you go now," he sadly, shaking  
his head and apparently, he had grown fond of me  
too.   
  
"Oohh, Toni. Sweet Toni. You know, I rather liked  
you," he whispered, running a hand through his hair.  
"But you know waayy too much."  
  
I had grown fond of him too, but it wouldn't be the  
first time I had been disappointed, or the last. My  
eyes  
were fixed to his large callused hands that was  
fidgeting nervously with his gun.   
  
" Hey, I was only doing my job. Remember?" I said,  
trying to stall. " This is what you hired me for,  
right?"   
  
Me and my big mouth. He reached down suddenly, grabbed  
me by my hair, and began pulling me up   
towards him. My scalp felt on fire as I slapped and  
tugged at his fingers. His face was close enough to  
mine that I could smell his breath. With the palm of  
my hand, I hit him hard, with a quick upward thrust  
to his nose, and he released me instantly, roaring in  
pain. Staggering backwards, he clutched at his face as  
I fell backward onto the ground.  
  
With a hit like that, I knew I had broken his nose. I  
also knew that I couldn't allow him to get hold of me  
again. I was no match for a man of his size.   
  
I scrambled to get up, but he was on me again,  
towering over me, blood spurting all over his face and  
shirt. He was shouting words I didn't even know  
existed.   
  
"You bitch!" he finally spewed, grabbing me by my left  
leg with hands that had power of a vice grip. With  
my right leg, I drew back my knee and with all the  
force that I could muster, gave him a quick sharp  
thrust with the heel my foot, connecting squarely with  
his family jewels, and I'm not talking rubies here.  
The cry he let out sounded something like a cross  
between an angry elephant and a pterodactyl, again, I  
was immediately released.  
  
While Stanley held and pampered himself, I was able to  
scramble away up an embankment of some sort  
and into the darkness, heading deliberately away from  
the trailer. I ran until I stumbled upon what looked  
like a huge graveyard for some of the construction  
trucks locked down for the night. I quickly ducked  
behind one of those large Caterpillar trucks, the kind  
with the huge iron jaws, then slumped down,  
pressing my head back against it to catch my breath. I  
was panting hard, my chest felt like it was on fire,  
and so did my face. Remembering the cut, I carefully  
touched the area, feeling along my jaw where the  
flesh had been torn. Blood covered my fingers. Great!  
Remembering my guns, I check frantically, patting  
my leg where I had strapped my little .22cal. It  
wasn't there. I panicked, feeling both legs. Where the  
hell was my gun!? Realizing that I must have lost it when I  
gave Stanley that kick. I quickly removed the  
.9mm from my holster, cocked it, then slumped back  
against the truck to rest. I clenched my eyes tight  
and waited, thinking about everything I had heard. So,  
Mike Calibru *was* alive. Nancy had been right in  
her suspicions all long. What she didn't know was that  
her loving husband was in on a plot to get rid of  
her brother permanently. And Hobson! Arrghh! The very  
name sent an angry surge throughout every  
nerve in my body. Things were beginning to make sense  
to me now. He was at that department store to see  
Heather. But she had played him like a fiddle. A  
second fiddle at that. Serves him right!   
  
Things had gotten a little too quiet out there. I knew  
that Stanley wasn't going to let me off that easy and  
let me go. I knew too much. He'd have to kill me too.   
  
By the light of the moon I glanced at my watch. It was  
2:00 am. Where the hell was he? Panic beginning  
to stir. I leaned forward, peering through the  
darkness, trying to figure out where I was. I must  
have been  
somewhere up high I could see the head lights from the  
traffic on the freeway below and was feeling very  
uncomfortable about it. I turned to look back down the  
path that I had come. Surely Stanley knew this  
construction grounds like the back of his hand. I  
wondered about the fate of Hobson and Mike and had   
hoped to steer Stanley away from them and the trailer.  
Swallowing hard, I held my breath listening for  
footsteps.  
  
In the distance, the sound of an engine starting up  
caught my attention, and I strained my ears, trying to  
locate its direction. It wasn't necessary. I could see  
Stanley's truck cruising slowly in my direction,  
headlights on high-beams, a flashlight beam panning  
out from the driver's window, sweeping   
the grounds. I moved back quickly, pressing my head  
firmly back against the truck. I could feel panic  
beginning to stir and my survival instincts kicking  
in. I could hear the sound of my heart thumping as I  
waited.   
  
Ironically, the truck came to a stop just a few feet  
ahead of the diesel I was hidden behind, and I froze,  
not  
wanting to draw attention to any movement. Stanley had  
probably traced my steps in the dirt. Smart.  
  
There was the sound of a car door opening and closing  
and then the sounds of boots shuffling slowly in  
my direction.  
  
"Toni!" I heard him call out my name.  
  
"C'mon Toni!" he pleaded sweetly.   
  
That's Brigatti to you! Creep! I muttered to myself.  
  
"Toni, I know you're out here somewhere! Come on out.  
Lets talk!"  
  
About what? The weather? I inched back a little hoping  
the headlight from the truck hadn't caught me. I  
slid beneath the truck, the huge tires shielding me.  
From the angle I was in, I could see Heather seated in  
the truck on the passenger side. She was crying, her  
face flushed and scared. I noticed some movement  
from the back of the truck and figured Hobson and  
Michael must have been in back. How badly hurt, I  
didn't know. Heather had totally lost it now and was  
crying uncontrollably. God, how I just wanted to tell  
her to shut up! The sudden movement of Stanley's boots  
caught my attention again. They were moving  
closer now, and I held my breath as they came to an  
abrupt stop just in back of me. I was certain he had  
discovered me. I could actually hear him breathing.   
  
"I ' ll let you go Toni, just come out and maybe we  
can arrange some financial deal. Remember that   
little beach house that you were talking about!" His  
voice loomed loudly right above me.  
  
I held my gun tight, but needed a good position and a  
good aim. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted   
a rock about the size of a small golf ball and waited  
until he called out my name again then took  
advantage  
of the noise and slid my hand over to grab it.  
  
" You're a very clever lady Toni! " he complimented, "  
But it's no use. Come on out and lets talk! "  
  
When Frank would take me fishing, he taught me how to  
flick a rock with the precise precision so that it  
skipped beautifully along the top of the water. In the  
position that I was in, it was vital that I didn't  
make a  
sound and that the rock didn't hit the bottom of the  
truck.  
  
Taking aim and with one smooth motion I slung the rock  
so that it whisked smoothly past his legs,  
landing in the brush behind him. Stanley spun around  
quickly and fired his weapon into the darkness, I  
took advantage of his distraction and darted out from  
behind the truck, rolling over quickly, the bullets  
from Stanley's gun just missing me as he spun back  
around and fired. I landed in a crouched position on  
one knee with my gun pointed squarely up at his face.  
"Hold it!" I shouted.  
  
Caught off guard, he froze.  
  
"Toss your gun into that pile of gravel!" I ordered  
sharply, my gaze burning into his.  
  
His statement was startled, his eyes reminding me of a  
deer trapped in on-coming headlights. For a long  
moment our eyes locked and from the looks of things, I  
had really done a job on him. His nose was  
bleeding profusely and slightly off center. That, and  
the front of his pants were also bloodied. It'll  
probably  
be a long time before he ever used that thing again.   
  
"Drop it Stanley!" I ordered again, "Now!"  
  
In the background, Heather had completely lost it  
egging Stanley to just go ahead and shoot me. With all   
the noise she was making I was tempted to shoot her instead,   
to put us all out of our misery. Sheessh!   
  
"Believe me Stanley-" I panted out another warning," I  
know how to use this thing!"   
  
By now heart was pumping so hard, I thought it would  
burst through my chest. All of my police training  
had come full force and I was more than willing to do  
whatever I had to do to survive. Stanley's  
mannerism was edgy, his eyes burning into mine while  
he, I suppose, pondered my ability. He held a sick  
grin on his face as he clutched his gun. Now either  
this guy didn't believe me or he was just plain  
foolish, I don't know, but whatever the reason, he made his  
move and I made mine.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Epilogue 15  
  
It has been a month since the Mike Calibre's suicide  
case was solved and it was a long while before Nancy   
could accept the fact that her husband had cheated on  
her, and with her brother's fiancee' no less. Her only  
consolation was the fact that her brother was alive.  
Much to everyone's surprise, Mike and Heather had  
run off to Mexico and had gotten married, which would  
explain that huge rock I had noticed on her finger  
when I first met her. It was Mike she had been  
contacting down in Mexico. In about a month, all of   
Mike's estate would have been hers.   
  
After Mikes murder, she and Stanley had planned to run  
off to Switzerland together to continue with  
Stanley's little construction company, building cheap  
housing and furthering his wealth.   
  
Stanley was lucky that it was his gun I was aiming for  
and not him. I could easily have blown him away.  
He would stand trial for the murder plot and lovely  
Heather was going to spend a long time painting her  
nails in jail for her participation in this whole  
thing. Mike of course, was going to have to answer to   
charges that he faked his own death. What some people  
will do for love!  
  
Hobson had taken a pretty bad beating. With one eye  
swollen and through puff lips he tried to  
explain his situation, that his jeep had broken down  
which is why he was there that night. He said that the  
phone call he had made was to contact the police to  
report that his car had broken down. Anybody who  
believes that story, well, I have some swamp land to  
sell them. It's funny how Hobson's jeep seemed to  
start up just fine when we got ready to leave. There  
may have been some truth to his little story though,  
because not long after I had things pretty much under  
control, Winslow appeared suddenly with back up.   
  
I never did find out why there was a naked woman in  
Hobson's apartment. Not that it was any of my  
business and I didn't asked. He really pisses me off!   
  
I was paid a hefty sum of money for the Spiolie case  
and I'm still thinking about saving up to buy myself  
that little beach house over looking the beach. In the  
back of my mind, I know that I have another matter  
that needs to be dealt with, and it would be foolish  
to put it off much longer. I was thinking about maybe  
taking some time off to check out this little bed and  
breakfast place over in New York City. I hear the  
hospitality there is quite warming. Maybe do some  
cooking, a little fishing.....Arrghhh!   
  
  
The End ~~ * 


End file.
